Reasons Why
by rushmore
Summary: Lizzie Bennet, of sound mind and body, would like to explain her reasons why she hates Will Darcy the Village Idiot. Unfortunately, her crazy family is kind of getting in the way, and where the hell is her orange juice?
1. I Make Fun of Fame, But Never Mac

Author's Note:

This is my first fanfiction, so reviews are _very _welcome. Just no flamers please!

I've changed a couple of the names of the characters, so if you get confused (which, hopefully, you won't be) just refer to this guide :)

(I just realized how much Max sounded like Mac, so I re-changed his name to Nate)

Eva= Jane

Lindsay= Lydia

Kat= Kitty

Nate = Charlie

Veronica= Caroline Bingley

* * *

**August 26, 2:30 in the afternoon, which makes me think of Panic! at the Disco, which is not a good thing at all **

Stupid school. Just as I'm beginning to master my summer routine of eating ice cream out of the container while watching reruns of the Office, during which Charlotte French braids my hair, I have to get the packet from Longbourn High School that issues my doom.

Okay, so I'm being melodramatic.

But my schedule is pretty close to my doom, no?

This year I'm taking British Literature, know as BritLit, which has the added advantage of close proximity to hot British accents, Biology (yes, my school's wacked that way), French III, Math III, U.S. History, Painting, and Physical Education.

Kill me.

As I am too uncoordinated to join any of the sports teams, I have been relegated to P.E, technically Physical Education, even though it's really just a stupid excuse for us to buy crappy sweats that have LONGBOURN HIGH emblazoned on them, as apparently Longbourn High School is lacking in school spirit. Clearly the faculty has never seen Lindsay and Kat's "Longbourn High School Stripper Dance."

It definitely mentions Longbourn High at _least _once.

Anyway, the sweats suck, and are really expensive. Apparently they're also quite legendary among the parents.

Case in point: the conversation I had with my mother about P.E:

_I say as I enter the living room, where the TV is blaring_: Mom?

_Mom is watching reruns of the O.C: _(sobs) Marrisa! Gone forever! (more sobs)

_I wait 5 seconds to allow her proper mourning time, then say_: Er, right… Anyway. Mom, I'm taking P.E. this year.

_Mom still in hysterics over Marissa until I say the word, 'P.E.' at which point her head snaps up, and her eyes narrow suspiciously as she repeats_: P.E?

_I mistake her sudden interest as confusion, so I say soothingly: _Yes, mom, the thing where we uncoordinated people band together as one and play kickball. You know, the game where you kick. the. ball.

_Mom's hand suddenly jerks out and grabs purse, as if afraid I might steal it: _P.E? Don't you need a uniform for that?

_In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, I say:_ Well, I guess so. I mean I can hardly play sports in jeans, can I?

_Mom narrows eyes even more, strokes checkbook lovingly, then says grudgingly: _No, I guess you can't. We'll buy some tomorrow.

At which point she flipped channels to the Proactiv commercial, which I've seen about a million times due to her obcession with Jessica Simpson, so I headed for higher ground, a.k.a. Eva's house.

Eva's house is great because we can crash on her couch and watch Grey's Anatomy and argue about whether McDreamy's nose is broken or not, all while debating the finer aspects of take out from the Golden Egg, the Chinese place near her house.

"The egg rolls are the best, but only if you know Mac is making them," she points out, while she puts in a well worn disc of Grey's. Eva and I are probably unhealthily interested in the sexpades of those attractive Seattle-ites (I'm guessing that's what you call them.) We have not yet progressed to the point where we bring out her Dad's medical tools, but last year we dressed up in his scrubs and strutted around her house pretending to be Ellen Pompeo. Good stuff.

"True. But if it's Greasy Tommy cooking, then don't even bother. Better wait until Thursday, cause then you know that Bianca is on deck," I say.

"Bianca! God, she was such a legend in middle school, wasn't she?"

I wince slightly at the mention of my version of hell. "Do we have to talk about middle school?"

She gets all huffy and serious then, like the time she tried to pierce my ears. "Yes, we do. Because we are going into 11th grade-"

"Shut up."

"BECAUSE we are gonna be juniors," she continues loudly (and rudely I might add) over me, "you need to get over middle school, and when I say middle school, I mean the Darcy Incident."

Oh, she used the words of the death.

The Darcy Incident happened at the last party of the year in 6th grade. There I was, flushed with hormones and whatnot from puberty, and therefore completely innocent to the shitty ways of boys. I'm minding my own business, taking a break from dancing with Char when I hear my name.

"Lizzie Bennet? You think that _I_ would dance with _her?_ Come on, Nate. You've got the only good looking girl of our entire grade." I look over, and there's Will Darcy, standing with his arms crossed over his chest with Nate standing next to him.

"She's cute, isn't she?" Nate grins stupidly in the direction of the girl before coming back to Earth. "Will, you're acting like an idiot. Just go dance with her."

"No." He said it so flatly, so devoid of emotion, that it crushed me. I'm not gonna lie- it hurt. A lot. But I have this image of fun and independent Lizzie, so I brushed it aside and ignored Darcy whenever I saw him. I continue to do my well patented cold shoulder to this day.

"The Darcy Incident is gone. I'm completely over it," I lie quickly.

She rolls her eyes at me and raises one eyebrow, which makes her look a bit drunk.

"Honestly, Eva! I'm over it. Done. Finito."

She raises her other eyebrow, and now looks completely piss drunk. Eva is sweet, so whenever she attempts toughness, she has the unfortunate ability to look completely idiotic.

"Fine, then. If you're so over the Darcy Incident, then I dare you to talk to him on Monday," she says, all challeng-y.

She's good. I'll give her that, because I like nothing more than a good Dare. I am queen of the Dares.

"I'll only do it if you talk to Nate." She blushes at this, and denies that she likes him, which I know is compete and total bull, because I have it on good information that she's been in love with him since kindergarten.

"Lizzie, you know that I don't I mean that's stupid why would I like him cause you know that there's nothing going on I mean if there were it would be so"

I cut her off. "Eva, you like him. And I'm pretty sure that he has a secret shrine built of you."

I'm not joking either, because Eva has always been drop dead gorgeous, with the perfect figure and blond hair and blue eyes. Plus she's the sweetest thing to walk the planet besides Bambi, but Bambi's kicked the bucket, so it's really no competition.

"Well what about you? Will has a thing for you. I know it." She states in her wise voice as she tries to hide her pleasure.

"Right. He totally wants to jump me," I say sarcastically. She looks as if she's going to say something, so I add, "Now can we talk about something else? Like how if it's Friday, then you're in luck, cause Mac's cooking at the Golden Egg. Mac's the best, right?"

"Agreed!" She sighs dreamily and I throw a pillow at her and all is forgotten about stupid Darcy and probably-equally-devoid-in-the-brain-department Nate.

This is one of the many great things about our friendship: that despite her belief that Will Darcy is my soul mate, we can both agree that Mac makes a damn fine egg roll.

**Still same stupid day, only later**

Just called Charlotte up, and it turns out that she's been put in Dance! DANCE, I tell you!

"Char, that can't be right," I said worriedly after she told me, because I had fully planned on Char being put in Physical Education too.

"Lizzie, I'm looking at my schedule and it says Dance," she repeated flatly.

"Still, maybe they-"

"No."

True friends are supposed to be more supportive. Like a bra.

"Char, I'll be the only one doing P.E! Come on. Can't you switch?" I beg, which is pretty hard to do over the phone but still. I'm a desperate girl.

She sighs, and I can almost hear the defeat. Char's never done anything that she really wants to do, partly because she's like that, and partly because life screws her over a lot. I feel bad for doing this to her. Maybe she wants to be a stupid dancer who twits around in pink tutus.

"I- sure, Lizzie. I'll switch." She says it in her quiet voice, the voice that kills me every time I hear it because she sounds so _small_ and helpless.

I sit quietly for a couple of minutes, biting my cheek. Char will switch cause she's a good friend like that- I take back the bra comment- but she won't like it. Oh she won't complain or anything, but she won't like it, and it'll eat away at her until she breaks down. Her parents divorced when she was six, and she's always been good at hiding things she wants, for fear that it might never come back.

I rub my forehead before replying, "Char, if you honest to God want to be wearing tutus all the time, and you really love Fame that much, you don't have to switch."

Char hangs up on me. She hates when I make fun of Fame.

Grr. I was trying to be nice.

The world doesn't understand kindness.

Now I know how Gandhi felt.

Hungry. Must get food.

**Technically the next day but screw it, I'm tired**

No food in damn house. So desperate was I for nourishment that I drank one of my mom's weight-loss drinks.

Spent the next five hours throwing up. I then collapsed on the couch in exhaustion, only to be woken up by the sound of a fog horn.

"WHO DRANK MY INSTA WEIGHT LOSS?!?!!"

After which I spent the next four hours hearing my mother moan about how awful her life was, and how much cellulite she had. Am now wondering if I will wake up tomorrow with a baby's bottom.

Life is looking up.

**August 28, 5:00 in the freakin morning**

I am officially on a break with my alarm clock.

Why?

Before, it was all, "Oh you can sleep until the afternoon! What if I care?"

Now it is waking me up at fucking 5:00 in the morning.

The sun's not even out yet. Why the hell should I be up?

School sucks. No two ways around it. It just does, and anyone who tells you differently is _wrong. _Or just plain stupid.

And because I got my license this year, I'm legally obligated (legal my ass, parents) to drive Lindsay, Kat, and Maia to school. They're my sisters, and while I do love them, sometimes I wish they all lived in Norway.

Lindsay and Kat are practically joined at the hip. It's actually quite scary to see them- it's as if your eyesight's gone all wobbly and you're seeing double. Maia doesn't talk much, just mopes around and plays a bunch of depressing songs. She and I have some great chats about how much life sucks, so if I die in P.E, I'm leaving my room to her.

Maia's in 10th grade, so she's stuck with the not-quite-attractive-yet sophomore guys, and Lindsay and Kat have the pathetically pervy freshman to deal with.

As a junior, I've come to realize that Longbourn High is pretty much a dead zone for guys. No oxygen, nothing.

It'd be depressing if I didn't have McDreamy or Mac of Golden Egg fame to think of.

**A few seconds later**

Nope.

It's still depressing.

**A few seconds after that**

Although Mac is pretty hot.

Must get to first period BritLit.

Aw, fuck. I hate school.

* * *

Author's Note:

Please review guys! Feedback is appreciated, so yeah...:)

Next chapter Will and Nate show up, and I start off first thing with BritLit, as well as funny Mama & Papa Bennet interactions plus some more Golden Egg!

Also, if anything is confusing with the plot and/or characters, please tell me!

Thanks!

xoxo

rushmore


	2. Of Dramatic Exits and Orange Juice

Author's Note:

Nate= Charlie Bingley

Veronica= Caroline Bingley

So Lizzie's a bit of a klutz, and Will's a bit socially handicapped...

* * *

**August 28, reacquainting myself with the nurse**

BritLit, the class I thought had so much potential, the one shining moment of my schedule, has failed me.

Will Darcy is in that class.

And of course he has to look infuriatingly handsome at 8:00 in the morning. Unlike me, the mistress of the bed head and bleary eyes, he has to have the skin of some pre-pubescent idiot. He also has thick, slightly crumpled brown hair that looks like it'd be really soft to run your hands through. Wait- NO! Bad Lizzie. BAD.

Okay, expunging all thoughts of Darcy.

Expunging done.

So I've gotten to class, right, and I've just settled into my seat and whatnot. There is a god because Eva sits next to me, although she is breaking the Cardinal Rule of Friendship (Sisters before Misters) and chatting with Nate, who's started to look like a puppy dog whenever he's around her.

If this is the beginning of their relationship, then I feel very sad for them.

Nate: "Hey, Eva."

Eva: "Hey, Nate."

Nate: "How was your summer?"

Eva: "Good. What about you?"

And so on. She's waited 11 years for this moment, and this is what she gets?

Male gender, c'mon. Step it up, X-chromos. Seriously.

I turn around in my seat, and lo and behold, there is Darcy, staring at me.

"What, did I just grow three heads or something?" I ask him pointedly, because the guy is staring really intensely at me.

He doesn't say anything, just turns towards the front of the room and ignores me.

Jackass.

Which is exactly why I made a dramatic exit from BritLit. Hair tosses plus speed (not the drug, the movement) always equal success.

Although I did stub my toe on Ms. Linden's massive desk on my way out, and now it's swelled up to the size of a small watermelon, so I'm currently sitting in the nurse's office, but still.

No pain, no gain.

**Still same day, only now it's lunchtime with the natives**

The first day of school is always block day at Longbourn High, which is quite possibly the stupidest thing ever, but that means that my sojourn at the nurse's office only cost me French class, so it's all good.

I mean, all I ever learned last year was that French people like nudity. A lot. This explains why ¾ of my class is male.

The world we live in.

Anyway, it's lunch time now, which means I'm subjected to an hour of people who don't know how to chew with their mouths closed. Grreaaat.

A blur of green and blue practically attacked me as I headed for the doors to the caf. "Lizzie! Are you alright?" I turn around and see Eva, her forehead crinkled in concern.

Friends. This is why you go to school. Not because the teachers actually care about teaching you anything, but because your friends care.

"Well, besides the fact that my toe is a bit…abnormally large, I'm really quite alright," I reply in British accent because British accents make everything good.

We both crack into hysterics as we enter the caf, and the lunch ladies look at us like we're crazy as they hand out meat loaf. Really, they should cook this stuff before they serve it to unsuspecting students.

Eva suddenly stops laughing, leaving me wheezing like a hyena, and gets her serious look on. She could totally be the next Oprah with that face. "Lizzie?"

I think I see an orange! Hallelujah! "Yeah? What's up?"

"Your toe couldn't have anything to do with…Will, could it? I mean Darcy?"

I grunt as I continue my orange hunt, bravely foraging among the year-old cartoons of milk.

She sidles along with me, twisting her hands back and forth. "Well…I just- I saw your exit from BritLit," Yeah, my exit was pretty damn good. "And I just thought that maybe it had something to do with him?" She finishes quickly as she hands me the orange. Eva's a whiz at finding stuff. She's not so great when it comes to shutting up.

"He's a jerk. That's why I did it."

She looks incredulous. Why doesn't she believe me? "But really Lizzie, do you want to keep this stupid grudge forever? I mean, c'mon. It's Will Darcy," Eva whispers to me as we make our way towards our table. Charlotte's saved us seats already, as per our tradition, by putting various magazines down to save seats. Today we've got US Weekly (She Lost The Baby Fat In Just 2 Weeks!) and People ("How Could He Do This To Me?")

"Yes I do. He's a pompous, annoying jackass who thinks he's too good for anyone in this entire school," I retort furiously.

Charlotte looks up, interested. "Who's a jackass?"

Eva pulls out her chair demurely. "Will Darcy, at least according to Lizzie."

Groaning, I flopped into my chair. "Can we just forget about it already? You know that I hold grudges into the end of the universes, so can't you guys just accept defeat and stop bugging me about it already?"

Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear.

Darcy and his posse- well, actually only Nate and Nate's bitchy sister Veronica, but still- entered the lunch room, causing the usual amount of "Hey, Will! We gotta talk strategy for the game!" yells from the soccer team. He waved them off as Nate whispered something to him, gesturing once, then twice, to our table.

Eva looks like she might have a heart attack. "Lizzie, are they coming over here? Oh my god he's coming! How do I look?" She frantically grabs a spoon and checks her hair desperately.

"Pathetic."

Charlotte rolls her eyes at me and turns to Eva. "Honey, you look great. Lizzie, you're being bitter, so just shut up."

"What? You think I'm being bitter? All I'm saying is that girls shouldn't care so much about their appearance when it comes to how guys view them! It's a sexist 1950's housewife attitude!" I pound the table for emphasis, which only causes our plates to jump about 2 feet in the air. "Men can dictate the ways of our society because society lets them! But for women, it's all about looking good for the hubby. It makes me sick."

"What's so wrong about wanting your wife to look good?" I knew, without having to turn around, that it was Darcy talking. I must have missed their arrival while I was ranting. Damn. Now I had to deal with the Village Idiot, His Best Friend and the Crack Whore. Lovely.

In case you didn't get it:

Village Idiot= Darcy

His Best Friend= Nate (whom I actually wouldn't mind as a brother if he weren't tainted by association)

Crack Whore= Veronica Bingley

Look, I'm not trying to be mean or anything, but if a girl deserves the nickname of Crack Whore, the girl for the job is Veronica Bingley.

Nate groaned and put his head down. "He's in the dog house now. Will, do yourself a favor and shut up. Please." He rolled his eyes at Eva, who smiled back. Oh, how cute. The two traitors like to flirt _and _destroy my lunch.

Darcy ignored Nate and looked at me as he continued, "I wouldn't want my wife to look hideous, that's all that I'm saying."

Crack Whore smirked. "I know that you, _Miss Eliza,_ don't care about your appearance. That's for certain."

Can you believe these two?

I clenched my fists and said, "Yes, _Miss Veronica_, I don't care about my appearance, as I'm not shallow enough to base my happiness off of other's opinions about me."

And with that, I whirled out of the lunchroom, raising my Dramatic Exits of the day to a grand total of two.

**4:17, back at the family compound of crazy **

Am currently trying to read chapter one of Charles' Dickens _Bleak House_, which is not going well as Kat and Lindsay are blasting Lady Gaga downstairs. They are also singing along off-key and- dear god, is that my mother singing?

I ran down the stairs and to my horror, there was the woman who bore me, snapping and grinding for all she was worth.

"DAD!!!!" I yell as I attempt to find the only other sane person in this house. "Are you aware that your wife is grinding in the kitchen?"

My father pops out of nowhere, a book clutched in one hand. Chuckling, he responds, "Why of course I am. How else would I have my coffee?"

He finds himself so amusing.

**Later, only I'm too lazy to look at the clock so I don't really know what time it is**

Family dinner is probably the closet thing we have to a mental asylum.

Case in point: dinner tonight.

So I'm trying to maintain the normalness, and Dad and I are talking about how Dickens was actually a huge misogynist, when my mother decides to interrupt with this: "Hugh, I'm thinking about getting a nose job."

Silence. Dead silence.

My dad's neck flushed a dull shade of pink before he replies, "And why is that?"

"Oh, well I saw a picture of J. Lo ," she states, as if that solves everything.

Lindsay nods supportively and Kat chimes in with a, " J. Lo has a great nose!"

Adds Lindsay, "Great choice Mom!"

She beams at both of them. "Well, I was debating between her and Angelina Jolie, but I couldn't do that to Jen."

My father is now completely bewildered at this point, and is watching this interaction as if he was watching one of his confusing games of tennis.

"So true. To Jen we are faithful!" the Siamese Twins genuflect, and Maia winces in pain.

"You do know that genuflecting is associated with reli-"

"Maia you don't watch Friends." Lindsay glares at her as if she's committed a felony. Maia looks down at her plate and pushes her salad around pathetically.

At this point, my father jumps in, "Melanie, I don't really think that a nose job is a viable commodity at this current moment." He has clearly chosen his words carefully, but I'm not sure that my mother understands what he's saying.

"Well, we'll just discuss it later." Kat and Lindsay look downhearted at this, because they want nose jobs too, and figure that if Mom gets one, they're one step closer to that plastic surgeon.

Dad looks relieved at this, and so dinner continues in a relatively normal way until dessert, when my mother asks triumphantly, "So _now _how do you feel about that nose job, hmm?"

It'd be sad if it weren't so pathetic.

**God I hate thin walls **

Why oh why did my parents have give Kat the name of Katherine? Why not Angelica or some other Rugrats crap, huh?

Why must they give her a name that can be shortened to Kat, and thus in Kat & Lindsay's world gives her legal rights to call herself Cat Deeley?

The Siamese Twins are currently watching old clips of So You Think You Can Dance, and every time Cat Deeley comes on screen, Lindsay squeals and yells at Kat to "Do your thing!"

So Kat prances around in what I'm presuming are 5 inch heels and screams at the top of her lungs, "SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE, BITCH? YOU AIN'T SEEN NOTHING YET!"

Sadly, this doesn't actually happen on So You Think You Can Dance, and Kat has never gotten the hang of a British accent, so everything comes out Southern.

Another thing Kat has never gotten the hang of?

Walking around in 5 inch heels.

Also, falling on soft things like beds, not hard things like the WALL THAT DIVIDES OUR TWO ROOMS.

God I need therapy.

Or some ear plugs.

Preferably both.

**August 31, after school**

Life should be simple. As in, you have friends, you eat ice cream, Johnny Depp decides to ditch his French wife and marry you, and your family isn't competing to win the title of "Best Example of Why Not to Procreate."

But instead, life is confusing.

Reasons Why Life is Confusing:

1) Despite 5 straight years of ignoring Eva, Char and me, the Village Idiot and his posse have decided that they will eat with us at lunch, thus proving it impossible for me to create a voodoo doll for said Village Idiot.

2) During BritLit, when I catch Darcy the Village Idiot staring at me again, and I give him the finger, he actually looks surprised. I mean, who does that? The finger is not a surprise. You know what's also a surprise? Finding out that despite the presence of natural selection in the gene pool, Jeremiah Collins can still be born.

3) Jeremiah Collins: all the crappy parts of a boy blended with the fashion sense of a kitschy 80 year old female, with a side of servant thrown in for good measure. This boy does not understand that girls don't like being called "Creature of my Desire" or such epithets as "Girl I Will Marry." Neither do we like boys stalking us to the bathroom. That is just creepy.

4) The fact that my mother and father got married in the first place. I do not honestly see how this event could have taken place without the addition of alcohol, blindfolds or mass injections of hormones. Even then, I doubt that they would be high enough to actually buy a ring.

5) When you go to the Golden Egg to buy food, you are greeted by a stunningly hot boy who is just your age. Are now convinced that you should be ready to meet Ashton, or that the boy might be gay, as good things like this do not happen to Lizzie Bennet in normal day-to-day life. This might explain reason #6.

6) As you are chatting up said hot boy, the doorbell at the front door of the Golden Egg twinkles (yes, it twinkles) and in walks Darcy. Darcy, who looks like he wouldn't appreciate the egg rolls of godliness that Mac makes; Darcy, who wouldn't be caught dead eating slippery food. Yep, that Darcy, enters the Golden Egg, sees me, makes a move to walk over to me and then turns white as snow. Cute boy at counter winces, and then grins broadly, asking, "How you doing, Darce? Life good?" Darcy turns on his heel and walks right out of there. Am now contemplating marrying hot counter boy.

**Later, at Eva's house with Char and Eva**

"So, all I'm saying is that Darcy can't be as great as you think he is, Eva," I made my point by gesturing wildly with the kung po chicken. "Yes, he is freakishly good looking and all that shit, but why would he be that rude?"

Charlotte muttered some pathetic little reason that I think is insignificant.

"It's not because he's jealous of me talking to hot counter boy, Char. That's stupid. No, it's because he thinks that's he important enough to screw over the entire world." Eva tried to protest this, but I hit her with a pillow so she shut up quickly.

Char joins in, and soon we have a massive pillow fight war going on.

Eva's dad enters the living room, takes one look at us, and says, "Carry on, girls."

Why can't my family be like that?

I mean, I love my Dad, honest I do, but he just seem so…withdrawn. Not from me, but from the rest of the family. Like he just doesn't get Kat and Lindsay, or even Maia. He tries, but not hard enough.

Eva's dad might be on easier terms because his wife isn't trying to become the next J. Lo and all, but still.

Char's parents split up, so I guess they don't really count towards my examples of good marriage examples.

Isn't it sad, how two people can pledge to love each other for eternity, only to have that promise be a sham? That's what I'm scared of. Of loving someone so much that it hurts, only for that love to be taken away from me.

When Char's parents divorced, she had to go see a counselor. The counselor basically told her that it wasn't her fault, and that she shouldn't blame herself.

But she does. I can see it, whenever she thinks she's hidden it so well, I can see it.

Sometimes I worry about her, because unlike Eva, Char's always been a bit of a wallflower, less content to be admired. She's pretty in her own way, but it's a lot less obvious than Eva's blonde bombshell look.

I think the world be a hell of a lot nicer if people just got over themselves.

**The next morning, back at the home nest**

Guess who called me?

Go on, do it!

If you guessed Jeremiah Collins, then you're WRONG (thank God!)

No, it was Mariah Shellings, inviting me to a party she's throwing at her house next weekend.

I guess Eva's sudden association with the Village Idiot's Best Friend makes us invite-worthy.

I need orange juice.

**A few seconds later**

Holy shit on toast.

My mother has gone crazy.

I just opened the refrigerator to find some OJ and instead, I find it covered with pictures of J. Lo's nose _everywhere._

"Mom?!?" I yell, freaking out about the twin possibilities that J. Lo has a stalker, and that her stalker is my mother.

She wanders into the kitchen, dressed in her work out clothes of a pushup bra and booty shorts, which are not workout clothes that anyone should wear. "Yes, Lizzie? What is it now?"

I count to 20 before saying, "Mom. Have you seen what's inside our refrigerator?"

She blinks. "Yes. I have."

"Well then don't you think you've gone overboard with this nose job?" I try to say it calmly, but it comes out more of strangled gargle. Damnit, woman, I need my orange juice. And yes, I do realize that I sounded like a 75 year old male just then.

"No, Lizzie, I don't think I have." And she just waddles away, as if that solves everything.

I decided to let my dad handle the reins on this one. So I went upstairs into my room and started cleaning it. 10 minutes later, I heard my Dad:

"DEAR GOD WOMAN WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE? WHY IS THERE A TWIG EVERYWHERE?!?"

Like those cozy t-shirts say, Life, my friends, is good.

* * *

Author's Note:

Love me some Papa/Mama Bennet.

Love me some reviews, people.

:)

That's my awkward hint for people to review.


	3. The Village Idiot and the Crack Whore

Author's Note:

What?!? Two chapters _in one day?!_

'Tis true, my lovelies.

I must admit: the Crack Whore is one of my favorite characters.

* * *

**September 2, 7:59 in the morning **

As it's now the second week of school, Longbourn High reverts back to normalness and has forgone the block schedule in sake of its usual, 8-periods of hell template.

So:

1st period is BritLit, which is now torture due to my proximity to Darcy the Village Idiot. He also does not seem to understand that when you stare at someone, it is considered rude.

2nd period is French, only marginally better because instead of Darcy the Village Idiot (which from here out I'm abbreviating to DVI) I have a class full of guys who have the emotional maturity of a blade of grass. Joy.

3rd period is Math III. I actually don't mind it that much, as I have several amusing members of the football team in that class. Although they do smell quite a bit.

4th period is Painting. This may be the highlight of my day- sad, but true- due to the fact that my teacher Mr. Ross plays Swedish punk as our background music, and there's a freshman named Gia who has potential. She's a riot, and very nice, plus it turns out she also adores the Golden Egg. Soulmate? I think so!

5th period is Lunch, which used to be my safe haven but is now being intruded upon by DVI and his posse. I have to sit through Veronica's attempted seduction of DVI as well as her fawning over Eva. I also have to deal with the DVI himself, and he seems incapable of saying anything that mildly resembles human decency.

6th period is Biology, the class in which we get to dissect dead stuff. The great thing about Bio is that hot counter guy from the Golden Egg is in it! His name is Ben, and he's gorgeous, as well as having the added advantage of being very entertaining. His impersonation of Gossip Girl had me close to death.

7th period is Physical Education. My own personal version of poison, it also coincides with every other athletic period in the school, meaning that everyone can see how much I suck at sports. Not that I care. It's just that I'd rather not have certain people see how much I can sweat and/or resemble a lobster.

8th period is U.S. History, and since it comes after P.E, can go screw itself.

Damn. That's the bell.

Time for BritLit with Darcy the Village Idiot!

Cheers.

**After first period, someone PLEASE kill me**

BritLit: you and I need to have a chat.

Why do you insist on torturing me?

So today I get there on time- a miracle for me- and there's Darcy, in all his hot early morning Village Idiotness, staring at me.

"Okay, we need to talk," I hissed at him as I made my way to my seat.

He looked blankly at me. "What?"

God, could he _be _any more worthy of the Village Idiot title?

"Hmm. Let's see…" I said with mock thoughtfulness. "Maybe about how you're glaring at me like your life depended on it. What gives?"

"Nothing. I'm not glaring at you," he replied. When I snort disbelievingly, he adds, "I'm not staring at you. The wall that's behind you is very interesting." He smiled slightly at this before he turns around and faces Ms. Linden.

Now it's my turn to glare. "What kind of shit is that? 'The wall behind you is very interesting?' How stupid do you think I am?" I questioned angrily. His eyes widened in shock and he seemed momentarily lost. I crossed my arms.

Bring it, Village Idiot.

He hesitated before remarking softly, "You're not stupid at all. In fact, I think you're quite brilliant."

And that was the end of it. He paid attention to Ms. Linden the entire class, never once glancing at me or "staring at the wall behind me."

Nothing. Nada.

I need aspirin.

**I really need to join the football team**

French was essentially pointless, as Kelly spent the entire time asking Mrs. Allen what 'Bonjour' meant, and Mrs. Allen eventually gave up on explaining this to her after trying to communicate that 'Bonjour' meant 'Hello' for 20 minutes.

She wound up popping in a disc of Desperate Housewives, and we watched it for the rest of French.

Math was a riot because the footballers- Matt, Joey and Luke- kept throwing things at Mr. Gent (pronounced not like the British Gent but with a hard 'G'. Yeah, I know my linguistics) and asking him if he would do the 'I'm a Lumberjack and It's Okay' dance from Monty Python.

Great times.

I am seriously considering hauling in the entire football team whenever I need a laugh.

They'd be like strippers, but without the cost and cheesy police uniforms.

**Love me some Swedish punk music **

Painting is seriously my favorite class now. God I love it.

So Mr. Ross was very generous today, and instead of putting on the Hives, he let Gia and I blast ABBA during class.

Gia reminds me of someone, but I can't place whom. She is a freshman, so I feel very motherly towards her, but she is very mature for her age.

We had a great time debating the finer points of the Golden Egg menu, and she also told me about a great coffeehouse/bookstore that's only 10 minutes away from Longbourn High.

We are definitely hitting that one up.

Anyway, in Painting we have this project where we have to paint a person who knows us best. I chose Charlotte over Eva because Charlotte knows more of my shit than Eva does.

Gia chose her brother.

"What's he like?" I asked her curiously. "I've always wanted one of those!"

She laughed and tilted her head to side like she was seriously thinking. "You know what? I could buy one for your birthday!"

"Oh could you?" I gasped and clutched my paintbrush to my chest. "That would be ever so loverly!" We both fell on the floor in laughter, and Mr. Ross almost had to call an ambulance, we were that bad.

Gia got up weakly before remarking, "My brother is probably the sweetest guy I'll ever know."

I raised my eyebrows at her. "High praise indeed." She shrugged casually, and scuffed her sneakers on the floor before adding, "He deserves it."

"Well, if your brother is half as nice as you are, then he gets my vote for president," I replied cheekily.

"Oh, I love that!" She grinned broadly, as if she knew something I didn't. "I _really _do."

I launched into my Elvis impersonation, complete with a hip swivel. "Thank you, thank you very much."

She winced at how bad it is, so I crossed my eyes at her, and then she stuck her tongue out at me, and then more laughter ensued.

See why I love this class?

**Screw it- I'm becoming a vegetarian**

The cafeteria does not understand that people like to eat actual food, not plastic and rubber.

So therefore, I have decided to become a vegetarian.

Reasons Why I Am Going to Be A Vegetarian:

1) The school food is crap. Complete and utter crap.

2) It costs 6 bucks to get a school lunch. Why pay 6 bucks for crap? I already have it at home, so why not have free crap?

3) Whenever Maia watches the Discovery Channel and I see all the furry creatures, I feel bad that I will be eating them at some point in the future

4) Eva's parents are both vegetarians, and they are quite trim and lovely.

5) My aunt reads Nutrition Action, this health magazine, and she sent me the article about how eating red meat is really bad for your health.

6) Vegetarians are more easily sympathized with

7) The only downside of this decision is that I will have to give up my one true love: the kung po chicken from the Golden Egg. Maybe I can convince Mac to make faux-kung po chicken?

8) In addition to the above, I feel that vegetarians are very poorly represented by Longbourn High School. Veronica Bingley, aka the Crack Whore, is the sole vegetarian. UNTIL NOW!! What what?

I realize that I do tend to sound like a poser sometimes.

But I'm a _vegetarian _poser.

See? Sounds better.

**Oh Ben, how I love thee**

I want to marry Ben, the hot counter guy from the Golden Egg.

So I come into Bio class, already pissed off from lunch due to the fact that the Crack Whore was sinking her claws into Eva.

Plus, this little _gem _of a conversation:

Nate: "You know Mariah Shellings' party on Saturday?"

Eva: "Ooh, yes!"

Me:

Crack Whore: "What, no snappy remark?"

Me: "I was worried that it might be _too _snappy for you, sweetheart."

(At this the Village Idiot snorted into his pudding. Even Village Idiots understand humor when it comes from a genius.)

Nate: "Anyway. I was wondering if you wanted, to, um, come with me?"

Eva: "Yes! Of course!"

(Here both blushed a bright red, which both then proceeded to deny.)

Crack Whore: "Fab! Oh, Eva you have to come over so we can talk outfits!"

Eva: "Only if Lizzie comes with."

(Here is when I break off relations with that girl.)

Crack Whore: "Why?"

Me: "I'm her wingman. Duh."

Nate: "Haha. That's funny! You're funny!"

(Cannot believe that the girl who was previously my best friend is dating Captain Obvious.)

Village Idiot: "There's the bell."

(Okay, perhaps it is not just Nate who is competing for the title of Captain Obvious.)

So that is why I marched into Biology with fiery, flaming wings of fury.

And Ben, being Ben, saw them and guessed, "Will Darcy get to you?"

"How did you know?" I asked, exasperated.

"Oh, you know. The usual, 'please, someone-kill-me-or-_him _look," he smiled as I guffawed. "Really, darling, just tell him to fuck off. Usually does the trick."

I slapped my forehead and groaned in jest. "OH, that's what you do! I always thought it was more effective to just knee the guy in the crotch, but ok!" I finished brightly as he edged away from me.

"I'm kidding, Ben. I'd never to that to you," I amended with a slight smile. He visibly relaxed and settled back into his happy-go-lucky face. "Speaking of the Village Idiot-"

"That's what you call him? Oh, I love that," he grinned as I swatted him. "Fine, go ahead."

I rolled my eyes and then resumed my line of questioning. "What is it with you two? Did one of you stand the other up at prom or something?"

Ben smirked and then glanced darkly at the lab table before whispering, "Lizzie? Can I trust you?"

"Of course," I replied instantly. "You'd never have to doubt that sort of thing with me."

"Good." He hesitated before adding, "Well, we practically grew up together." My eyes bugged out and he laughed. "Hard to believe, I know. But we did everything together. Played soccer, ate dinner with our folks-"

"Went shopping, bought a diamond ring together, fell in love," I teased.

He slapped the table before stating, "Damn straight. But then we had a falling out after he decided that he couldn't be seen with little old Benjamin Wickham." He chuckled bitterly. "You see, I wasn't good enough for him."

"No one is," I returned.

"I wasn't rich enough to be part of his group. That's the end of that story," he finished abruptly.

I bit my lip. "Geez, Ben. I'm sorry. I mean, I knew he was a prick, but still. That's really low." He smiled and waved his hand, like he didn't care anymore.

"Wanna hear my Chuck impression?" And just like that he was back to happy-go-lucky Ben.

"Hell yes! I've been needing this all day," I smiled in anticipation.

His Chuck impressions basically consisted of him making snorting noises and flicking his hair, which is a damn good impersonation of Chuck Bass if you ask me.

As Phys. Ed and U.S. History can both go screw themselves, I will not dignify them space in my journal.

**Probably sometime in between 4:00 and 5:00 in the afternoon, back at the home front**

My mother is still continuing her ridiculous assault on our kitchen appliances in her quest for a nose job.

Now, in addition to the pictures of J. Lo's nose in our refrigerator, she has taped more of them on top of our microwave, blender, cabinets and trashcan.

It's like an onslaught of stupid.

She refuses to take them down until my father says yes to her getting a nose job.

"Mom, why don't you just get one already, if you want one so badly?" I asked her bluntly today while I sifted through the pictures of in search of some ice cream.

"Because it's not as fulfilling unless your father wants me to get one," she sniffed in reply.

I tried to figure out the logic of this, but eventually gave up and decided that my mother copied that phrase from some taping of the E! Hollywood True Story.

**Later, but still same half shitty/half nice day**

I was going through the day, thinking about what Ben said about the Village Idiot, and I started to get really mad.

Like, completely furious at him.

Because who ditches their best friend just because they're not rich enough? Seriously? I mean, who is that shitty enough to do something like that?

DVI might think that just because he's rich and gorgeous and whatnot he can get away with anything. I hate those kinds of people. They think the world belongs to them just because they were born privileged, so they don't think they have to give a shit about anyone else.

And maybe my mother does want to get a nose job, but it's not like she cut off her best friend just because they weren't rich enough.

Although that does sound like something my mother would do.

But still! The Village Idiot is a sick, sick person who deserves to eat scum for the rest of his life.

Now I feel better.

Ok, night night.

**Early next morning**

Have decided that I will buy muzzles for Kat and Lindsay.

Note to self: stop at PetSmart on the way home from school.

**During French class, cause I'm such a rebel**

Why do teachers insist on making fools out of themselves?

True, Mr. Ross is pretty boss (rhyming makes me happy) but Mrs. Allen?

No.

Although I do feel like she is up against a brick wall, due to the fact that several of my classmates seem to own only 3 brain cells.

Take Kelly, for example. Yes, Kelly is the same girl who didn't know what 'Bonjour' meant. And she is in French III.

This is what she said today in class, just out of the blue: "I think I need a manicure."

Mrs. Allen turned around from the whiteboard and asked, "I'm sorry dear, did you say something?" She was actually genuinely worried, too. Like she thought that Kelly had started to hallucinate or something.

Kelly frowned slightly as she stared at her hand. "I said I need a manicure. Maybe I should get red polish? You know, to bring out my eyes?"

Right, Kelly. You have gray eyes. That _totally _makes sense.

Mrs. A looked quite perturbed, but then seemed to think that it was a lost battle, so she turned back around and kept lecturing us about conjugations.

As the French say, _merdre. _

**After that hell hour my jail mates like to call 'lunch'**

Good lord almighty the Crack Whore has landed.

Today she was a bit later than usual, as she usually stalks the Village Idiot and times her entrance so she gets to stand in line with him while they wait for the lunch ladies to hand out plastic.

But today she fully ran to our table and interrupted our conversation with a squealed "Miss me?"

I smiled sweetly. "Nope." She glowered at me but I calmly took a bite of my bagel.

My quest to become a vegetarian has been met with resistance from the cafeteria staff, but I conned one of them into supplying me bagels. I am quite persuasive when I want to be.

Crack Whore rolled her eyes at me. Nate shifted uncomfortably in his seat before muttering, "Er, Veronica, I don't really think that this is the-"

"Eva! You _have _to join me on the field hockey team. Please?" She simpered to Eva, completely ignoring her own brother in the process.

Eva smiled warmly and replied, "Sure, why not? I mean, it's just a tryout, right?"

"Of course." Crack Whore is evil. Pure evil. "And what about you, Elizabeth? You should try out for the soccer team, unless, are you in P.E?!" She exclaimed, as if completely surprised.

I scowled in response. The Village Idiot looked at me and demanded, "You're in P.E?"

I nodded. "What, not fancy enough for soccer boy? I'm so ashamed."

Charlotte glared at me. She does that when I sound bitter.

Village Idiot frowned slightly as he turned back to his sandwich. What was going on here?

"I hear she's fantastic at kickball!" Nate invented wildly. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he grinned in either a plea for help or more drugs.

Eva nodded enthusiastically. "Lizzie really is. Will, you should see her play."

Will should most definitely not see me play. What is she thinking?

Wait- did I just call him Will?

Rephrase and redirect: I meant Darcy the Village Idiot.

Crack Whore looks like someone just punched her in the gut. "I think not. Will, you said that you would help me with my math homework, remember? Remember?" She leaned in closer to him and batted her eyelashes.

For once, I felt sorry for DVI.

He squirmed away from her and muttered, "I don't- um, sure, Veronica."

She smiled in what she must have assumed was a seductive way and started nibbling on his ears.

I have just realized that Veronica Bingley has a stunning resemblance to a drugged-out mouse.

Nate shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "I'm sorry." The Village Idiot just leveled a look at him.

I don't understand their friendship.

**Later, on the way home from school with the Siamese Twins and Maia**

Is there some reason why my parents deny me my happiness?  
I'm stuck driving Kat, Lindsay and Maia to and from school everyday.

Help me. Please.

Today the Siamese Twins fairly bounce into my car.

"Where's Maia?" I demand, wondering if they had stuck her in a closet, like they used to do when we were little.

Kat shrugged and Lindsay replies, "Why would I know?" I sighed and rolled my neck. God I need aspirin.

"Lizzie, can you _please _drive us by that place you are always mooning on about?" Kat shrieks from the backseat as Lindsay pulls out her iPod and blasts the Black Eyed Peas.

The place I'm always mooning about? What the hell?

"Kat, I'm not really sure what you're talking about, so I'm just gonna say no- and oh thank god, there's Maia." Maia is scurrying towards the car. Finally, we can go. "Maia! Get in, girl! Where were you?" I ask her, but she just shakes her head as we drive out of the parking lot.

Lindsay rolls her eyes. "Probably moping in the music room or something like that." Kat giggles in agreement.

Maia just stares out the window, and I think I can see tears on her cheeks, but it could just be the light.

**Sometime later that evening, most likely 10:00**

Things that go bump in the night: the trees next to my room and my mother.

Seriously. I'm trying to get some sleep tonight, so I went to bed early and then I hear this thump.

Then again. Thump. Thump thump. Thump thump thump.

Rapists don't usually go thump, do they?

I grabbed the light near my bed and tiptoed down the stairs.

The light is on in the living room- maybe it's a robber? They're stealing the TV!

Dashing into the room, I screamed and hit the first thing I saw.

Turns out I missed, which is good for my mother and bad for my self-defense skills.

Because lo and behold, it _was _my mother, sitting in her workout clothes of a pushup bra and booty shorts, doing yoga.

"Lizzie! What are you doing?" She demanded as she switched from Tree to Frog pose.

I don't quite know how to answer her, so I just mutter, "Good night" and leave the room.

Did you know that plugging lamps back into the wall is hard?

Yeah, I just realized that.

And I could still hear my mother downstairs, going "Oh yes, I can FEEL the burn!" and "I'm breathing! I'm buh-reathing! Uh-huh! Life is good!"

Sometimes I wonder if my life is being taped for the aliens.

I hope the aliens are enjoying themselves, because they better damn be for all the hell I go through in this house.

**September 4****th****, sometime after P.E.**

You know what I hate?

The soccer team.

Because unlike, say, the football team, who are hilarious and adorable, or the rugby team, who go through the halls grunting such wisdoms as "I sweat" or "We lost", the soccer team just wins every damn game.

Seriously, how do they do it? Torture? Steroids? Blackmail?

And another thing I hate about the soccer team: the uniform.

Why does it have to look so good on them? Why must we resort to quality clothes? Can't Longbourn High School stick with the lovable crap?

Incidentally, I wish to complain to the school about the tightness of the t-shirts on the soccer players, particularly one player named Darcy the Village Idiot.

It is quite distracting when I am playing kickball to look over and see him charging about the fields in a tight t-shirt.

This is why I missed the ball and kicked Mr. Michaels in the groin.

So really, it is not my fault that he is currently in critical condition at the local hospital. No, it is Darcy's fault.

It is also his fault that I now have to sit out of every kickball game until I can "learn to control my impulses better."

On second thought, it is Darcy _and _the school's fault.

Charlotte laughed when I told her this.

"Lizzie, c'mon. You are attracted to him. That's why you got so flustered," she explained over the phone to me in her rational voice. Rational, my ass.

"No. Char, it is not because I'm attracted to the Village Idiot- which I'm not." I spat out the words before adding as a second thought, "Anyway, he runs funny."

She snorted. "Are you kidding me? He runs like a god."

That is exactly why I proceeded to tell her that McDreamy's nose is, in fact, broken.

Charlotte refused to talk to me for a full 20 minutes until I apologized and said that his nose wasn't broken, it was just the angle I had seen it at.

Oh, lies.

What every stable relationship is based upon.

* * *

Author's Note:

I just lurve reviews.

:)

I also apologize to anyone who has been competing for the title of Captain Obvious, because I really think that Nate's a shoe-in for the prize.


	4. There Are Stars Above and Around Us

Author's Note:

A big thank-you to all the people who reviewed. You guys made my day. :)

I put shout-outs to you guys below.

Okay, so for some reason I feel like this chapter is just a bit off, but it could just be me.

Although I do love me some Papa/Mama Bennet interactions.

* * *

**September 6****th****, it's too early in the morning for this**

You know what I just _love? _

Waking up in the morning, not to your alarm clock, but to the sounds of your mother running about the house like an obese elephant, but without the added bonus of cute floppy ears.

"MOM! Will you please go ruin someone else's morning?" I bellowed at her as I tripped my way down the stairs. Not literally tripping, of course, but oh you know what I mean.

She paused mid squat and fixed me with one of her 'Thou Shall Not Judge' stares. "Lizzie, I am not ruining anyone's morning. I am just enjoying some light cardio."

Is she deranged?

I rubbed my eyes blearily and replied, "Light cardio? Since when do you call charging about the house light cardio?"

"Since J. Lo did," she snapped. "Really, Lizzie. Keep up."

And at that she jumped up and started lunging into the next room.

I am very worried that at some point the neighbors will begin to believe that there is a lunatic rapist running about wildly in our house.

**Probably 8:50 in the morning or something like that**

I have decided that Darcy the Village Idiot is insane.

So this is how Eva and Nate interact during BritLit:

Nate: "Hey, Eva!"

Eva: "Nate! Hi!"

Nate: "Didn't see you there."

Eva: "Ooh, really?"

Nate: "Well, now I do."

Eva: (Giggles) "That's great, Nate."

Nate: "I know, right?" (Laughs)

Eva: "You do. Ha"- OH GOD THIS CONVERSATION IS SO BORING.

Sorry.

But on the scale of 1 to 10 on 'Your Average Teenage Talk', it'd be a 5.

And this is how the Village Idiot and I interact:

DVI: (staring)

Me: "Fuck off, Darcy."

DVI: (continues staring)

Me: "You know what? I'm thinking of getting my breasts done. What do you think? Personally, I love the Pamela Anderson look."

_The Village Idiot is suddenly fascinated by the lesson_

However, my witty remark caused about all of the males in a 5 mile radius to stare at my chest for the rest of the period, no doubt wondering if Pamela Anderson would suddenly appear in their midst.

Well, one thing I know for certain now: the Village Idiot doesn't have a thing for Pamela Anderson.

Maybe he's secretly Hugh Hefner in disguise?

**A few seconds after that**

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

**Randomly during French**

Although if Hugh were indeed here, I'd sock him in the jaw for what he does to women.

**I need citrus**

Am now seriously considering the possibility that Hugh Hefner might be here, at Longbourn High School in the fine state of New York.

Two words: Jeremiah Collins.

So today I'm braving the natives and heading into the salad bar because my bagel contact on the cafeteria staff has mono- er, that's not good- when I see Jeremiah Collins, just leaning casually against the wall.

Dear Bruce and Evan Almighty.

What the hell is he wearing?

I _think _he's wearing the same dress that my Gran used to wear. Although it doesn't flatter his figure the way it did hers, so maybe he bought the wrong size? Regardless, he looked like an overgrown lizard.

"Greetings, Creature of my Desire!" he said as he tried to ooze sexiness, but instead, coming off like a constipated Antonio Banderas.

"Fuck off," I replied cheerfully as I tried to ignore him, which proved impossible as he was standing right in front of the fruit section.

Jackass.

I need my citrus, damnit.

He leaned closer towards me. "Oh ho, feisty. I like 'em _feisty. _You're a tiger, a little fierce lion cat!" He growled and made a claw fist with his hands.

However, this action threw him off balance, causing him to trip and fall face forward in the salad bar.

Success! My path to the fruit was clear.

"Er, Creature of my Desire, could you, could you," he mumbled through the lettuce as he flailed his arms about in an attempt to stand up.

Maybe it was just the light, but he looked remarkably like a rather fat airplane just then.

No, not the light. Just him.

I set my lunch tray down and walked over to him. "Collins, do you need help getting up?"

"Oh yes! Girl I Will Marry, you truly are my soulmate-" I cut him off as I poured ranch dressing on his head.

"Collins, when I say fuck off, I mean it. Stop stalking me and sticking thongs in my gym locker or I will go straight to the principal, you hear me?" I whispered fiercely to him over his mumblings of "But I thought all girls loved thongs!" and "Tigers like ranch dressing. I shall remember that, dearest!"

I swear that boy is going to wind up working at Victoria's Secret someday, and he will be the employee who gets caught stealing thongs all the time.

I walked back to our table and determinedly avoided everyone's eyes.

Crack Whore was practically salivating. "Why, _Miss Eliza, _is that your boyfriend? I see you two like to role play." She smirked suggestively at the Village Idiot, who was (of course) glaring at me. Doesn't that boy know how to smile?

Eva gasped. "Lizzie, you didn't say you were dating Jeremiah Collins!"

I need better friends.

Charlotte elbowed her in the side and stated firmly, "Lizzie's not dating Jeremiah. She'd never do that."

Okay, maybe not.

Crack Whore's smirk died. "Oh, how sad."

"Clearly you're all broken up about it," I retorted. Nate giggled at this.

Heaven help me. Eva's boyfriend _giggles. _

Boys should really watch romantic comedies, so as to learn how to laugh in an attractive manly man sort of way.

Also, so they can learn how to fuck off.

**Go die in hell, P.E.**

I am now on a probation of sorts from P.E, due to my accidental kicking of Mr. Michaels' groin.

I firmly maintain that it is all the Village Idiot's fault, because if it weren't for the fact that he looks so damn good in a tight t-shirt, Mr. Michaels never would have had to go to the hospital.

The school, however, believes that I have some sort of brain-appendage functioning failure, so they insisted that I sit out of every game of kickball until I become "at one with my body."

I am not some pubescent 13-year-old girl.

No offense to 13 year olds, because I love you guys. Seriously, we need to go out sometime to the Golden Egg so that we can bond.

Anyway.

So I'm sitting on the bench, watching others make fools of themselves playing kickball, when out of the woods comes Darcy the Village Idiot.

Shirtless.

Sweet baby Jesus.

Bad Lizzie. BAD Lizzie.

But he's so pretty!

Hmmm. Hmmm. Six pack abs- NO! BAD LIZZIE!

He's leading the stupid soccer team on some sort of run thing, from what I could make of it.

Why must he circle by the kickball field?

I tried to compose myself and look airily unconcerned with the fact that I am sitting on the bench.

This bench? Yeah, it's a Throne…of Dignity!

Bite me, baby.

Oh damn. Here they come.

Mr. Michaels looks quite exasperated with them, as several of his players (female _and_ male, thank you very much) are momentarily distracted by the appearance of the shirtless soccer players.

I must admit, they do have very nice abs.

I should hook my mother up with them. She'd die of excitement.

"BOYS! Go somewhere else NOW!" Mr. Michaels roared at the soccer players, causing his two strands of hair to have a heart attack.

Darcy the Village Idiot ignored him and led the soccer players toward my Throne of Dignity. Why must he stare at me when he's running? Surely that causes some sort of balance problem?

They sped past me, and some of the boys hollered out, "Hey, Lizzie!"

I waved my hand in response, like the good Queen of Dignity I am.

**Back at the home front, but isn't it supposed to be a nest?**

My family is out to get me.

Reasons Why My Family is Out to Get Me:

1) My parents had Kat and Lindsay. Enough said.

2) My father hides all the good books in his study and locks himself in there whenever my mother is watching the O.C. This forces me to watch it with her, to make sure she doesn't try to throw the TV out of the window like she did that one time, when they kicked Sanjaya off of American Idol.

3) We have no orange juice in the damn house.

4) I am quite worried because I can't find my dog anywhere in the house. Am now convinced that I never had a dog to begin with, and thus I have been hallucinating all these months.

5) Am now freaking out about the fact that I hallucinate, and do not even notice it.

6) Why can't my hallucinations be of people, like, Johnny Depp, or attractive British guys?

7) However, on the non-hallucination topic, there is no shortage of J. Lo pictures in the house. This will prove useful when J. Lo when dies, and my mother the stalker begs to arrange her funeral.

My father doesn't understand why she continues to attack our kitchen appliances in her quest for a nose job.

"But Mel, why are you doing this?" He asked desperately, as she ignored him and taped a picture of J. Lo's nose to the overhead light. "I just don't understand why you keep doing this!"

She frowned slightly, and adjusted the picture, before sniffing, "Marc Antony would."

Kat hollered from the living room, "True that!"

Lindsay added, "He has a moustache!"

My mother nodded sagely and yelled back to the Siamese Twins, "Thanks for supporting me, girls! You're my bras!"

Added the Siamese Twins: "You know it!"

I am trying to get that interaction out of my head, but it's not working.

"Marc is a loyal husband. _He _would let me get a nose job!" She burst into tears and ran into the hallway.

She does this often. A couple days ago I opened the linen cabinet in search of a blanket, only to find my mother sandwiched between Duvet Covers and Flat Sheets, reading an issue of Cosmo.

"Who the devil is Marc?" My dad stroked his own (hairless) chin in confusion. "Mel, why aren't you answering me? DAMNIT WOMAN! Is Marc that guy from the gym?"

He drinks V-8 juice a lot. All those vegetables make him hyperactive.

Sad, but true.

Also, doesn't he know my mother well enough to know that she is under the false impression that our house is a gym?

"Dad, shut up, would you? Gerald Butler is being interviewed!" Lindsay squealed excitedly from the living room.

"Well, I'll just go and Ger-ald Butt-er my bread!" He chuckled to himself as he walked back to his study, humming now.

This would be amusing if we actually had bread in our house.

Even then, no.

Must go to the Golden Egg for nourishment.

**Back from the Golden Egg, seriously wishing that I lived there**

I'd forgotten that Ben works at the Golden Egg.

Another reason why I wish it was legally possible to marry a Chinese restaurant.

**September 8****th****, Crappity crap crap crap**

Grr.

Why must Mariah Shellings try to kill me?

Her stupid-ass party is tonight, and because Eva doesn't understand that the Crack Whore and Veronica Bingley are the same person, we (by which I mean Eva, Char and I) are climbing into the same car as the Village Idiot and driving to the party.

I need aspirin.

**Fuck you BritLit**

So I'm sitting at my desk, flipping through _Bleak House_ and minding my own business, when I heard the Village Idiot say, "So I guess I'll pick you up at 8?"

He looked straight at me, smiling slightly when I grunted in response.

Wait- how does he know where I live?

Can you spell, 'stalker?'

"Wait. How do you know where I live?" I demanded abruptly, thinking out loud but minus the stalker part. "You've never been to my house."

He shrugged casually. "Nate knows. I guess Eva told him."

Bitch.

I sped out of BritLit to get away from the Village Idiot, and saw Char waiting by my locker.

"Oh Char! Thank god you're still here!" I shoved my books at her and opened my locker.

She gave me a funny look before replying, "Actually, Lizzie? There's something I need to talk to you about."

I grabbed my books from her, exchanged _Bleak House _for my French textbook, and shut my locker. "What's up?"

"Well…you know that country club, over by the Pemberly estate?"

The Pemberly estate is this ancient mansion lurking in the hills near our neighborhood. My dad used to drag us up there, until he realized that Kat and Lindsay were more interested in chatting up the naked statues than learning about local culture. It also is home to a country club that Char's a member of, which I don't understand at all, as neither of us have a desire to play tennis in short skirts.

I frowned. "Yeah. What about it?"

Char said in a rush, "Well the club is having a dinner dance, and you know how my Dad and I go there, and um, Jeremiah Collins found out about it, and he asked me if I would go with him to it, and I didn't have an excuse, so I…" she trailed off miserably.

How could she do this? "Char, you know he's crazy!"

She grimaced. "He can be, quite, um, charming, when you get to know him.

I snorted. "Charming? _Him?_ Char! He's complete idiot! Honestly Char you could do so much better."

She shook her head, and I laughed. "What, Char? You think that he's the _best _that you can do? C'mon."

"No, Lizzie. I'm being serious here. Eva has Nate, and you have Will mooning over you-" I made a noise like a cat and she repeated, "You have Will mooning over you, whether you like it or not, but I'm not in either of your leagues. Boys don't notice me. Jeremiah did."

I whispered softly, "Char. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Just being honest, Lizzie, that's all." She turned and walked down the hallway, leaving me alone.

I cannot honestly believe that this would happen.

Char, my best friend, the one I could count on, is going out with Collins.

Because she thinks he's the best she'll get.

I feel so awful for her, because she's in this mess to begin with, and because there is a very good chance that he might show up in the same dress as her.

**Love me some football players**

Math is quickly becoming one of my favorite classes due to the fact that I have Matt, Joey and Luke in this class.

Seriously, I love these guys. I would happily have their children, if it weren't for the fact that I'm 16, and therefore eligible to appear on MTV's '16 and Pregnant' reality TV show.

I can't deny Kat and Lindsay the chance to humiliate our family on national television.

Mr. Gent is currently lecturing us about how we have to pay attention more in class, or we'll fail our mid terms.

"Class? Listen up. I need you all to know that some of you-" here he eyeballed the back row, "Are in a great danger of failing my class. Even though school has only been in session for 3 weeks."

Matt interrupted him, "Hey Mr. Gent! Wanna hear a song?"

Mr. Gent raised his eyes to ceiling and then back to Matt, "No, Mr. Morrison. I do not."

Too bad for Mr. Gent, because Matt yelled, "Hit it!" to Joey, who turned on a CD player (how they snuck it in, I have no idea.)

Luke sprang up from his desk and pranced to the front of the room. He struck a diva pose, accidentally whacking Mr. Gent with the back of his hand, before adding,

"It's our little ditty! Hope you guys like it!"

Oh yes, Luke. We did.

Here is their little ditty:

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Girls wearing bras,

We hate You!"

Bravo, boys, bravo.

**Painting, the only spot of light in this hellhole**

I want to adopt Gia.

We had a great laugh today about how we both think that Mr. Ross is in love with Ms. Linden, my spazzy BritLit teacher.

"Didn't you see the way he was looking at her?" Gia whispered excitedly to me as we laid out our paintings to dry. "He is _totally _into her."

I glanced over my shoulder at Mr. Ross before adding, "She is just his type."

"Really?" Gia exclaimed in astonishment. "Damn. I thought I was his type!"

I whacked her with a paintbrush so she shoved me with a printbook.

"He's mine, and don't you ever forget it!" I retorted fiercely. "Mine, you hear me? Mine!"

At which point Mr. Ross walked up to us and told us that paint is not something that a person can own, it is something that must be _earned._

As he walked away, Gia added in an undertone, "Just like Ms. Linden."

We fell into more hysterics, and I accidentally knocked over a can of water, but Mr. Ross has gotten used to us, so he just called out mildly, "I hope that wasn't paint, girls."

"No, Mr. Ross," we said in unison.

I swear, this girl is my lost sister.

**A few seconds later**

Like Peter Pan!

**A few seconds after that**

No, that was the Lost Boys.

Damnit, male gender!

Why do you take everything from me?

Virginity, my jokes, sanity, etc, etc.

Although not the virginity part yet, thank god.

**After school, preparing for torture with Eva**

Eva flat out dashed up to my room and started spreading out possible outfit combinations the moment we got home.

"Mom?" I yelled as I pushed my way through what used to be our kitchen, but is now a shrine to J. Lo's nose, and oddly enough, Jennifer Aniston's ankle. "You are aware that all of this paper you're using is killing rainforests, right?"

I heard a creak from behind me, and there was my mother, climbing out of the pantry, wearing nothing but a raincoat.

It is quite possible that I am related to a hormonal monkey.

That, or a very poorly trained nudist.

She sniped at me, "I was _trying _to get some R & R, but clearly you don't understand my needs!" She flounced out of the room, the raincoat swishing behind her.

Good lord almighty.

I actually don't understand her needs at all, because they seem to primarily consist of two things: J. Lo and our TV.

"LIZZIE! Get your ass up here now! You aren't going to the party in shorts," Eva shouted down at me. I groaned and muttered, "Fine. I'll go commando then."

"What?" Eva replied as she hauled me up the stairs. "Oh, nevermind. Anyway, I think you'd look really good in a skirt, maybe some black tights, and ankle boots, hmm?"

She forced my ironic t-shirt off (Being Vague is Almost As Fun as Doing This Other Thing) and handed me a lacy one.

"No. Nuh-uh." I pushed it back into her hands and grabbed a blue v-neck instead. She rolled her eyes and turned back to her outfit, a pink on white explosion of preppy.

Eva thinks that because her parents are doctors, she is a prep.

I keep telling her that she doesn't even know where Cape Cod is, but she gets all huffy.

I think that the preppy clan would kick her out if they saw her, but whatever.

"Eva? Where is my mascara?" I asked her absentmindedly as I wandered into the bathroom.

"Hmm?" She mused as she used _my _mascara.

I tackled her to the ground and got my mascara back.

It took us 3 more hours to clean the streak of mascara off her face, then reapply mascara to both of our eyelashes, then Eva tarted up some more while I tried desperately to escape her wrath.

I had just made it to the landing when the doorbell rang.

"Lizzie!!! He's here!" Eva shrieked and collapsed on top me. That girl is _heavy _for someone so skinny.

Oh no. I think I saw a blur of booty short make it to the door.

Fuuuucck.

"Hello, I'm Na-" I pushed Eva off of me and ran down the stairs.

I almost wish I hadn't though, because there, standing in the front hall, was Nate, the Village Idiot, and my mother.

In her workout clothes of a pushup bra and booty shorts.

Nate's face was bright red, and he didn't seem to know where to look.

"Er, your chest is quite- I mean, um, your house is quite…lovely," he trailed off quietly. The Village Idiot winced.

"Yes, Mrs. Bennet, your house is lovely," the Village Idiot said.

She beamed at the two of them. "J. Lo would be so proud!"

Nate attempted a smile, but it got stuck, so he looked like he was on crack. (What is it with the Bingley siblings and crack?)

Darcy grabbed my arm and pulled me out of there. Nate followed quickly after, having rescued Eva from where I trapped here on the stairs.

The Village Idiot still had my arm, so I looked pointedly at it until he removed.

"Sorry, I just thought it might-" He blushed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Be best to leave before she started spreading the J. Lo gospel?" I finished with a grin.

He nodded weakly.

"You get used to it, after awhile," I told him. He pointed to the car, and I stopped abruptly. "_That's _your car?"

His car, if you could call it that, was a shiny black convertible. Who the hell owns a convertible in 11th grade!?!

I mean, besides Nancy Drew, of course.

"A present, of sorts," he grimaced as he opened the door for me. I made a face and kicked him in the shin, which made him let go of the door.

"I can open my own door," I muttered as I got into the car.

The Crack Whore's head whipped around from the front seat. "Lizzie! Oh, I thought I smelled something foul."

"Probably just you, honey," I returned, smiling sweetly.

Nate turned his laugh into a cough, and Eva clapped him on the back.

The Crack Whore glared at him, but he just gestured to his throat.

"It's been bothering him recently," the Village Idiot mentioned a couple minutes later.

We rode in silence for a while, until the Crack Whore turned on the radio.

"Oh, excellent. I love this song, Will, and you do to! See? We are supposed to be together!" She stroked hair arm adoringly, and he tightened his grip on the wheel.

"Actually, I hate it." He said through clenched teeth. She gave a simpering laugh and began singing along to Katy Perry.

"Cause you're hot and you're cold, you're yes and you're no, you're in than you're-" The Village Idiot punched a button on the control and suddenly Katy Perry was drowned out by the White Stripes.

She blinked a couple of times before adding, "Will, dearie, I don't know this song."

I piped in from the backseat, "I think that's the point, dearest."

Nate coughed once more and Eva looked at him worriedly.

I actually love the White Stripes. Some people think that they're too loud or not rhythmic enough, but I would totally marry Jack White.

It's funny that Darcy likes them.

Who knew that Village Idiots have good taste in music?

**At the stupid party**

So we actually made it to Mariah's house without killing each other, by which I mean the Crack Whore and I didn't bring out the knives, so I just figured I'd ditch the whole lot of them and never see them again.

Nate and Eva snuck off somewhere, probably some closet- so cliché- and the Crack Whore slunk into the crowd with other girls of similar persuasions, so I thought that I was safe from the Village Idiot.

Well, I thought wrong.

Because you know who seems to have filled the shoes of Jeremiah Collins?

Yup.

Darcy the Village Idiot.

I was dancing with the football team, having a great time, and doing the robot and what not when the Village Idiot just appeared out of nowhere, clutching a bottle of water.

"Oh thanks, I need one!" I shout to him as I grab it from him. He grins and sticks his hands in his pockets.

"I figured you would," he replies.

I couldn't hear him over the music, so I scream, "WHAT?"

He rolls his eyes and grabs my hand. I try to slap him with my water bottle, but he's stronger than me so I only succeed in giving myself bruises.

"Where are we going?" I yell at him, as I have suddenly become tone deaf.

He just pulls me away from the crowd and out onto the deck, where it's quiet.

Oh sweet baby Jesus is he going to attack me?

I make escape plans in my mind, but attackers usually don't say "Ladies first" when you go through a doorway, right?

Or is that just what they _want _you to think?

Hmm.

It's cold for September, but I silently say a thank you to Eva for making me wear tights.

He fiddles with his hair before blurting out, "Your mother doesn't always dress like that, does she?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Just figured that if your mother dressed like that, then you might be a little less…" He stops speaking and leans against the railing. "I don't know, just less well-adjusted?"

"What the hell does that mean?" I ask him curiously.

"Well, it can't be easy having her as a mother." When I don't say anything, he adds quickly, "Not that I'm saying she's a bad mother or anything like that."

I laugh loudly. "She's not a bad mother, per say, she just lives in her own world."

Darcy looks down at his shoes. "Not a bad thing, that."

I smile. "Not at all."

"My sister is like that, sometimes," he confesses.

"You have a sister?" I blurt out, surprised. He smiles slightly at the expression on my face and says, "Yeah, I do. I have to look out for her, because she sometimes she forgets that she's in the real word, so she gets into trouble."

I nod. "I hear you. I've got three younger sisters, and it seems like all they can find is trouble."

He looks away from me, but I can see the smile on his face.

Darcy has a nice smile.

We stayed out there, just looking at the stars. I told him which one was Sirius, and he made a really bad joke that there was a star called Funny.

All in all, not what I was expecting from him.

Maybe I just judged him too harshly?

But what about all the things that Ben told me? How can a guy who thinks it's not a bad thing for his sister to live in her own world also ditch his best friend just because he's not rich enough?

I have such a headache.

I need orange juice.

**Back home, waaayyy before the sun is even up**

"WOMAN WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!?! WHERE IS MY V-8 JUICE GODDAMNIT!"

The only person who speaks in such dulcet tones this early in the morning is my father.

"YOU JUST NEED TO LOOK, HUGH! YOUR V-8 IS RIGHT NEXT TO J. LO !"

The only person stupid enough to answer him?

My mother.

"WOMAN, ARE YOU WEARING A RAINCOAT?"

* * *

Author's Note:

_Sonya- _I'm glad you like Mama Bennet, as I adore her.

_Pisicandru- _My reviews page was really messed up for the last couple of days, I don't know what was wrong with it. Maybe it works for you now?

_Frankincense Pontipee- _Sea shanties, hmm? My apologies!

_Person from Seattle- _Can I just say that I love Seattle? Thanks for the correction! And I do agree with you- 6th grade is petty, but Lizzie holds grudges like no one's business

Reviews warm my heart, they really do.

Keep 'em coming!


	5. Hormonal Rabbits Do the Robot

Author's Note:

_Pisicandru _asked in a review why Gia and Lizzie have a class together, when Gia is younger than Darcy, but Darcy and Lizzie have BritLit together.

The school I go to mixes all the grades together for the arts classes, so I did the same thing here.

Hope that explains it!

Also- you guys are the best, you know that? Seriously. :)

* * *

**September 10****th****, day of sickness**

I want to kill the cafeteria staff.

My bagel contact, who has mono, got me sick. Not with mono, thank god, but some mutant version of a cold.

I'm now hacking up half a lung, snorting all the mucus out of my nose and thrashing about in my bed 24/7.

Joy.

I am also forced to stay at home with my mother, who is supposed to be my caretaker, but is more interested in a marathon viewing of the Proactiv infomercial.

My life is over. I will die, and no one will care, because my mother will be moaning about her blackheads, and how much she misses Jessica Simpson.

Must get sleep.

**A few hours later**

Sleep is impossible to get in this damn house.

I eventually gave up and crawled down the stairs miserably in search of some friendly dust bunnies to talk with.

They really aren't that friendly.

Me: "Hello, dust bunnies!"

Dust Bunnies:

Me: "How's life treating you?"

Dust Bunnies:

Me: "That bad, huh?"

Dust Bunnies:

Me:

Dust Bunnies:

Me:

Dust Bunnies:

Me: "Fuck you."

And yes, I do realize that I just spent 5 minutes of my life talking to dust.

The things we do for companionship.

**My house is not supposed to be a rainforest**

My mother is not aware of the fact that her eldest daughter is dying upstairs.

No, she finds it more prudent to spend her day swinging- and by which I do mean _swinging- _from the light fixture in the kitchen.

"MOM!" I screamed from my deathbed, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just some mild cardio," she replied blithely, as she froze mid-swing. "Really, Lizzie. Get with the picture!"

As there is no picture, I do not think this metaphor applies to me, so I just gave up and pretended like she is talking to one of J. Lo's ankles.

However, my interaction with the nudist monkey caused my glands to swell up even more, so I now resemble a small continent.

**3:40 in the afternoon or something like that**

Ben, how I love thee.

So somehow word of my impending demise must have spread around the school, because I received no less than 15 messages- okay, fine, they were all from Eva and Char but still! 15 messages!- on my phone.

Eva's messages went like this: "Oh, Lizzie! I really hope you are okay. Maybe Nate and I should come over to see you? Ms. Linden didn't assign any homework today because she has a date with someone"- Gia and I were _so _right about Mr. Ross- "And I don't know about the rest of your classes. But Nate and I are okay, so I guess it's just you, hmm? Oooh, that tickles. Sorry, Lizzie, that was just Nate. He says hi! And so do Veronica and Will. Ok, bye!"

Lovely. The Crack Whore and the Village Idiot send their regards.

I wouldn't be surprised if they were the ones who poisoned me.

Char's messages went like this: "Lizzie? I really hope you aren't just pretending to be sick in order to get away from Jeremiah." I snorted derisively. "Or Will." Silence. "Anyway, I hope you get better, and I'll see you soon!"

Yeah, right.

She'll see me soon when SHE DIES.

But Ben, sweet Ben, actually _came _to my house and braved the wild jungle natives (by which I mean the Siamese Twins and my mother, as I'm pretty sure that Maia is adopted from Russia) in order to bring me movies.

"Lizzie, love? Open the door!" He commanded as he walked up the stairs to my room. I sprang from my bed and flung open the door. "Ben! You are a lifesaver, you know that?"

He laughed and waggled his eyebrows. "I do indeed know that! I thought you might need some company." Here he reached around in his backpack and brought out _Becoming Jane_ and _Zoolander. _

"You brought James? Oh, you shouldn't have!" I squealed in delight.

Oh no. I am turning into the Crack Whore. Rephrase and redirect.

"I mean, that's great, Ben," I amended, attempting to look less drugged out. He frowned and asked, "You sure your okay? I mean, besides the sickness and everything?"

I nodded and grabbed the movies from his hand. "Let's go watch Derek kill the prime minister!" He grinned and followed me downstairs.

The Siamese Twins perked up when they saw him.

"So, Lizzie, who's your friend?" Lindsay asked as she eyed Ben.

I sighed and pushed Ben forward. "Kat, Lindsay, Ben. Ben, Kat and Lindsay. There, you met, let's go," I dragged him away before he could get a good look at them. Better for him to think that they are momentarily insane then permanently insane.

We watched the movies in silence, him stroking my hair occasionally.

Also, he tried to kiss me, but that's a minor detail.

"Lizzie, I know you like me," he whispered as he went back for round two of the attempted kiss. "Why can't you admit it?"

I held his face so he couldn't come further. "Ben. I'm sick. Do you _really _think that this is the best time?"

He smiled sheepishly at me. "Um, I guess not." He got off the couch and walked to the door. "Hey, Lizzie?" He called back to me.

"Yeah?" I twisted around to get a better view of him.

"Come back to school soon." And with that, he was gone.

Why must boys be stupid? Why can't they be more like girls, who just bitch about what is going on with them?

The thing is, I do like Ben. But it feels too easy, you know? Like if we did go out, it wouldn't that great.

I'm so confused.

God I need orange juice.

**Stupid sisters blockading my path to orange juice**

Kat and Lindsay popped out from the kitchen and blocked me from getting orange juice.

"Lizzie?" Kat whined to me. "Can I please go out with Ben?"

Lindsay elbowed her in the side and declared, "He's mine, Kat! Shut up. So Lizzie, what's _really _going on with you two?" She smiled at me as Kat shoved her into the doorway.

"You always get everything, and now you're getting Lizzie's boyfriend! I hate you!" Kat burst into tears and started throttling Lindsay.

Lindsay screamed and grabbed a newspaper and began attacking Kat with it.

"LIZZIE! Help me!" Kat yelled as Lindsay jumped on her back and pulled out pieces of her hair.

They've been watching too much 'Gossip Girl.'

Alas, Chuck Bass will not come and save and/or take them to a sketchy strip club owned by his father.

The world we live in.

I just shrugged and walked away to get my orange juice, only to be stopped by my mother.

"Lizzie, what is going on?" She questioned me as she did a lunge/squat routine around the kitchen island.

"Kat and Lindsay are fighting again," I replied and waded through the pictures of J. Lo.

She gasped in horror. "Lindsay Lohan and Cat Deeley are fighting?" She shook her head before replying, "I knew that Samantha was a bad influence on her."

I counted to 20 in my head before saying, "No, mother, Kat and Lindsay are."

My mother blinked in confusion. "Who?"

Sweet baby Jesus.

"Your daughters are fighting," I said slowly and loudly. "D-A-U-G-H-T-E- oh c'mon, you _have _to know what I'm talking about. They're fighting over some guy."

"In that case, carry on!" She said to the Siamese Twins. "Keep up the good work, girls!"

She waddled away, presumably to find some closet of ours to hide in.

I swear my mother is on drugs.

That, or she's been drinking liquid foundation again.

**In the middle of the night, so not technically the same day but whatever**

I can't stay in this house any longer, or I will go crazy.

So, I'm going to school tomorrow, even if it means having to deal with the Crack Whore and the Village Idiot.

And if I get them sick, well, that's just a perk.

**Back at the prison **

Cannot believe that I was stupid enough to go back to school.

So I make it to BritLit a little after the bell rings, and Ms. Linden goes, "Oh, Lizzie. Late again?"

I muttered some reply and flopped into my desk, thinking that Ms. Linden would just have another brain fart and forget about me.

Nope.

She smiled in what she must have assumed was a sympathetic fashion, and declared, "Lizzie, since you missed yesterday's class, you were not here for my announcement of our new class project!"

New class project? What the hell?

Ms. Linden saw my confusion and added, "Yes, our new class project. You and Will Darcy will be working together on it."

Kill me.

"He has all the notes from yesterday, so I advise you to get together with him after class and go over them."

Correction: kill _him, _more like.

The Village Idiot stopped me after class and asked, "So when can you go over those notes?"

"When hell freezes over," I cheerfully retorted.

He frowned. "Lizzie, you have to do this project." I glowered and he continued, "It's graded. C'mon, don't be stupid."

I whirled around and glared at him. "Fine. Don't be an ass."

"What?"

I ignored him and went down the hall to French, swearing in my head as I did so.

Who the hell does he think he is? I mean, really. 'Don't be stupid?'

I should have remembered his words because I was stupid and I entered French class with a look of utmost hatred on my face.

Reasons Why It is Unadvisable to Enter French Class with a Look of Rage:

1) All the boys in the room will yell out, "PMS, bitch!"

2) Kelly will start sobbing about how awful it is to wear tampons _and _red nail polish

3) Mrs. Allen tries to calm down the class, but eventually gives up and pulls out an issue of People to read

4) When you ask Mrs. Allen if you can have a copy of People, she glares at you as if this whole fiasco is your fault

5) Mrs. Allen refuses to let you read People, so you are forced to interact with Kelly and pat her on the back every 5 minutes when she has a mental breakdown about tampons

6) At which point all the boys leap up from their seats and say, "You shoulda worn pads!" in an Italian accent

I have now decided that boys are unhealthily obsessed with the selection of products in the feminine hygiene aisle of our local CVS.

What can I say?

It is pretty kick-ass.

**11:21 or around that time**

The British are coming! The British are coming!

Bite me, Paul Revere.

Longbourn High School has become cosmopolitan recently, due to the arrival of our British exchange student, Richard Fitzwilliam.

When our esteemed principal Mr. Hillandale mistakenly brought him to Math III instead of Math IV (how that man made it past the first grade, I have no idea) Richard Fitzwilliam did a little jig and salute before saying, "Hey y'all, call me Fitz!" in a bad version of a Southern accent.

I have found my new lover.

Only this conflicts with my marriage to the Golden Egg. And my engagement with Ben.

Damnit, monogamy!

**Randomly during Painting**

Screw it. I'm becoming a polygamist.

Reasons Why Everyone Should Be a Polygamist

1) _Big Love _is a great show

2) Monogamy sounds really boring when you say it 5 times fast

3) Polygamy would allow me to marry the Golden Egg, Ben, and Fitz without judging me

4) When I jet off to Rome sometime in the near future, and find a very hot man roaming the streets, I will be able to marry him without worrying about cheating on the Golden Egg, Ben, or Fitz

5) Polygamy would solve all politician's problems

6) Jeremiah Collins could marry all of his thongs, so Char would be free from his clutches of doom

Just had the mental image of Collins wearing a thong.

Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

Anyway, back to the Fitz story:

Mr. Hillandale realized he took Fitz to the wrong class after Fitz clapped him on the back and mentioned cheerfully, "Old man, I'm not as stupid as I look. I'm actually a senior, but what the hell!"

Sadly, I don't have any classes with him, so no British accent for me, but he did trip in the hallway, so fingers crossed that he's in P.E!

Oh no. What if I kick him in the groin too?

Hmm.

Must buy Fitz an athletic cup as his 'Welcome to America' present.

**A few seconds later**

Why do they call it a cup?

I really have no desire to drink out of it, but whatever.

**A few seconds after that**

Shut up, Lizzie.

**Fuck off, P.E.**

Nooo!

The soccer team has abducted Fitz!

I hate the soccer team. They should go die in hole somewhere.

Actually not, because that might smell quite a bit.

They should go die in a hole- wait for it- in ANTARTICA!!!

What _now_!?!?

There, that's better.

So I'm sitting on the bench, aka my Throne of Dignity, when I hear Fitz call out, "LIZZIE!"

I turned around and lo and behold, there was Fitz, standing next to the Village Idiot and Nate, kicking a soccer ball.

Why must the Village Idiot be shirtless all the time?

It is most distracting.

Oh sweet baby Jesus- what if he is secretly a nudist?

Actually, that wouldn't be so bad.

WHAT?!?

BAD LIZZIE. BAD.

I shall _ignorez-vous _that previous thought.

_Ignorez-vous-ing_ is done.

I've got mad French skills.

Anyway.

I glanced at Mr. Michaels, who was currently rolling about in the grass, so I figured the coast was clear for me to go over to them.

"What's up?" I asked as I trotted over.

Fitz grinned. "You're not worried about the fact that I know your name, and we've never met?"

The Village Idiot rolled his eyes. "Lizzie, this is Fitz."

"I got that," I retorted. Nate giggled- oh dear god not again- and Fitz replied, "See, I'm this lunatic's cousin-" here he pointed his finger at Darcy. "And he's quite taken with- ow!"

For Darcy had kicked him in the knee.

"What the hell was that for?" Fitz groaned as he sank to the ground, clutching his knee.

Darcy looked to the sky and said calmly, "It's going to rain."

Nate nodded. "Yup, it sure is."

"Hate to break up the lovefest and all, but you're his cousin?" I asked Darcy incredulously. "Wow."

He scowled and muttered, "I get that a lot."

"He sure does!" Fitz popped back up and grinned wickedly. "I'm the better, more charming, handsomer version of him. The ladies love me."

"Oh, Fitz, marry me, would you?" I sighed dreamily as he put his arm around me.

Darcy clenched his jaw and walked away.

What is going on?

Grr.

Boys are too confusing for me.

**A couple hours later**

That must be why robots are taking over the world.

**A couple seconds after that**

Damn.

I need to be Japanese.

Hello, sushi, robots, fast trains, coolest language!

All we Americans get is free speech.

We totally got the fuzzy end of the lollipop.

**Dinner time in the loony-bin**

Perhaps my family will be the first to go when robots take over the world.

Case in point: dinner today.

_Mother says randomly as she stares blissfully at the wall: _I love J. Lo.

_Father looks worried: _What, Mel?

_Mother continues on as if she hasn't heard: _And Jessica Simpson.

_The Siamese Twins nod fervently: _Tony's a bastard!

_Me:_

_My father is now staring at his salad, as if hoping it will safe him: _Girls, what the hell are you talking about?

_Mother lifts up a strand of spaghetti: _Hugh?

_Father replies: _Hmm?

_She continues to look at the spaghetti in confusion: _Why do they call it, spaghetti and meatballs?

The fact that my mother, a grown woman, a mother of three teenage girls, does not understand why spaghetti and meatballs is called spaghetti and meatballs, makes me very sad.

Oh fuck. What if I end up like that?

**8:35 at night, sadly still the same day**

Just spent two hours reacquainting myself with various food stuffs to stave off my impending dumbness.

Am contemplating shacking up with our grocery store, so as to eliminate any such confusion.

Mr. McGreggers is quite hairy though.

Hmm.

I'll pack my razor.

**8:38 at night**

"MOM?" I screamed from the bathroom. "Where is my razor?"

I ran frantically into my parent's bedroom and found her intently painting a section of the wall.

With my razor.

She turned around and put her hands on her hips. "Lizzie, you can't rush art!"

Good lord almighty.

**9:05**

"WOMAN! WHY THE HELL IS THERE BLOOD ON THE WALL?"

**A few seconds later**

"HUGH I'M GOING THROUGH MEN-O-something or other SO JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

**A few seconds after that**

Oh, _parents._

Gotta love them.

**Probably 10:30ish, but I don't care**

Eva just called me up to berate me for the fact that I haven't started working on my BritLit project of hell.

"But, Lizzie!" She whined over the phone. "You have to! At least be civil to him, for my sake?"

I rubbed my eyes and groaned inwardly. Why must she use 'the Best Friend' card?

"Fine. I'll say yes and no."

She laughed and replied quickly, "That's all I'm asking for."

"So how's it going with Nate?"

"Oh, Lizzie, he's perfect. He just gets me, you know? Like we both share the same jokes, and we practically think the same thoughts. He's so nice, and sweet, I just- I'm really happy," she finished contentedly. "Like, for the first time ever."

"That's great, Eva," I said.

Eva added, "Veronica's been really nice, too. You'd like her if you got to know her."

"Honey, I know her, and I don't like her."

"But she really is sweet-" I cut her off quickly with a grunted, "If you call evil sweet."

She hung up on me.

Why do my friends always do that?

Maybe the power company has a hormonal rabbit working the lines.

That's probably it.

**A few minutes later**

Just had a horrific thought: what if said hormonal rabbit is my mother?

Wait, no, it can't be her. She never leaves the house.

Sigh.

Crisis averted!

**Randomly, in the middle of the night**

That means that there are more of her out there, among the innocent who do not understand her lunatic, hormonal monkey attitudes and clothes.

Perhaps this is why the rainforest is being destroyed?

**I want to kill BritLit**

I figured that if I wanted Eva to stop mooning over the Crack Whore, I'd have to suck up my pride and deal with the Village Idiot, mano a mano.

Wait- I think that means man to man.

Gender confusion is an underrated thing, people.

"Darcy," I yelled at his retreating back as he walked down the hallway. He jerked around at the sound of his name, and walked quickly over to me.

"Yes?"

How can someone sound that good at 8 in the freakin' morning?

I fiddled with my hair before replying, "I think that we should..you know, work on that project. I mean, if that is okay with you."

He nodded quickly and said, "How about you come over to my house today and we can work on it?"

I made a face, so he added, "Well, Eva's already coming over, so I just figured-"

"Sure! I'll do it!"

I will find her and kill her.

Darcy smiled. "So do you need a ride?"

"Er.. um, actually I-" Eva was glaring at me from across the hall, probably guessing that I was going to say no, and try to ditch him. I sighed. "I do need a ride. Thanks."

I looked back over at her and she grinned.

Bitch.

Darcy shifted his backpack. "So I'll meet you at the front gate?"

"Yeah, whatever."

He grinned and walked to class.

Eva bounced over to me and squealed, "Lizzie I'm so proud of you!"

"I'm so ashamed of you!" I countered, and headed for French class.

Once again, as those frisky Frenchies say, _merdre._

* * *

Author's Note:

I'm going to be updating less frequently in the coming weeks, as I have to get ready to go back to my own prison of hell.

_Sonya _asked how I updated so quickly. I just wrote whatever made me laugh, really. I am slightly drained of ideas, though, so the next chapter will be coming to a theatre near you in a couple of days, or something like that.

Reviews are like snuggly puppies, without the potty training.

I love them.

:)


	6. A Lifetime Full of Plastic Pegs

Author's Note:

So this chapter is a bit more depressing than the others, due to the fact that I played the Girl, Interrupted soundtrack on repeat while writing this.

Also, your reviews are the best. Seriously people. It's like Christmas whenever I get a new review.

(That's my not-so-subtle hint to keep reviewing, lovelies!)

* * *

**September 20****th****, 4:30 in the afternoon**

You know when you play the board game Life, and you always choose to retire at Millionaire Estates, rather than Countryside Acres, because damnit, you deserve some happiness after riding in a freakin' min-van for your entire life? With plastic pegs and a husband who _always _falls out of the damn car.

He's a real keeper, that one.

Anyway, Darcy the Village Idiot actually _lives _in one of those estates.

So a couple days ago he drove me over to his house so we could work on our BritLit project of hell, and this was our conversation:

Darcy:

Me:

Darcy:

Me: "So who's side are you on? Jon or Kate's?"

Darcy: "Excuse me?"

Me: "I'm rooting for the Plus 8 myself."

(Here he had a neck spasm and twitched like a dead spider for several more minutes. He must have a thing for Kate. Or Jon.)

Darcy: "What?"

Me: "Nevermind."

Darcy:

Me: "I miss Kurt."

Darcy:

Me: "But not Courtney."

Darcy:

It was one looong car ride. I sang in my head the majority of the way, and played 'Marry, Fuck, Kill' for the rest of it.

Oh the joys of silence. That is when you become at one with yourself, and realize your true priorities in life: marriage, sex, and murder.

When he pulled up to his house, I laughed hysterically.

"What?" He asked quickly.

"Nothing. It's just that your house, it's very, um, huge," I responded honestly. "Do you have a Whole Foods stuffed in the back somewhere? For your midnight cravings?"

"Only on Tuesdays," he replied with a straight face.

"Ha ha. Very funny," I scowled and got out of his car.

I had to hand it to the guy; his house was gorgeous. No, correction: his mansion. It was one of those old manor houses, with large stone pillars and wide windows. The garden was perfectly tended, and I think I saw a lake with swans in it. Sweet baby Jesus. Swans, I tell you. What kind of family in New York owns swans?

"You must have what, 50 rooms?" I asked as I stretched my legs out.

"Something like that," he muttered as he pushed past me.

I followed him into the mansion, before stopping and realizing that I had no idea where the hell I was going. Plus, Eva was supposed to be here, wasn't she?

Shouldn't there be loud giggling coming from someplace?

"Um, Darcy?" I called nervously. "Where's everyone?" My voice bounced off the high ceiling. I craned my neck and stared up in awe. His house was beautiful.

"Oh. I forgot that you've never been here before," He ran his fingers through his hair and pointed down the hallway. "They're in the third room on the left."

I nodded, pretending like these instructions made sense, and walked in the direction he had pointed in. I found a couple of bathrooms, and one closet full of musty sweaters before I found the right room.

"Lizzie!" Eva exclaimed as I walked into the living room. She ran over to me and hugged me before adding in a whisper, "Thank god you're here. Veronica won't leave me and Nate alone, but now you're here, so you can distract her!"

I have traitors for friends.

The Crack Whore slunk off the couch and slid her way over to me. "_Miss Eliza!_" She cried out. "Why, we weren't expecting you so soon!"

"Hormones will do that to you," I replied with a grin. "Bastards, aren't they?"

She scowled at me and tossed her hair. "Where's Will? Why isn't he here now?"

For a stalker, the Crack Whore is pretty pathetic.

Where are the night vision goggles, hmm, missy? And the black jumpsuits?

And where, might I add, are the 'I Heart Will Darcy' tattoos?

"He's probably just preparing," I said. _For torture,_ I added silently.

Nate giggled from his corner. "He's coming, Veronica. Chill."

She tossed her hair again, and I added, "Careful, darling. Baldness is a serious thing."

A deep laugh came from behind me, and I turned and saw Darcy leaning against the doorframe. "Lizzie, we should go work on that project."

"But what about me, Will! You said that I-"

"No."

"But Willy!"

"No."

Darcy left the room and I sprinted to catch up with him.

"So what should we do for our project?" I asked as we walked up a flight of stairs. "I'm thinking that we need a good rom-com, but that's just me," I teased him.

He rolled his eyes and replied, "We'll think of something. You're creative. I wouldn't have asked Ms. Linden to work with you if you weren't."

My eyes bugged out. "You asked Ms. Linden. To work with me?"

He shrugged casually. "It was either you or Kayla, and Kayla's tried to sell me lettuce one time, so I choose you. Don't think too much of it."

But I did. All the time we worked, I thought about it, wondering about what it meant. Did he like me?

Did he just hate Kayla?

Well, everyone hates Kayla, except for me.

We've totally bonded over the lack of produce in the cafeteria. We made up a dance and everything.

Anyway.

All these thoughts are giving me a headache.

Grr.

**Still same day, only later**

Just wasted an hour of my life trying to convince my mother to not go out of the house in her workout clothes of a pushup bra and booty shorts.

Am now feeling a kinship with Leonardo DiCaprio, as he too had to convince a hormonal woman to not commit suicide.

**Why does this day never end? **

I can't get sleep in this damn house, due to the twin facts of Kat and Lindsay snore _really _loudly for females, and Maia is wailing away in her room.

"Maia," I croaked as I stumbled to her room. "Some of us are trying to sleep, you know."

Maia was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, her arms crossed, doing nothing.

I blinked in confusion. "I heard noise, just a couple minutes ago. Was that you?"

Still, nothing.

"Maia? Honey, what's wrong?" I said worriedly. I stayed where I was, leaning against the door, because Maia doesn't like when people get too close to her.

"C'mon, Maia. Tell me."

She stared determinedly at the ceiling.

"Maia, please. Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not doing anything," she said suddenly. "Get out."

"C'mon. Don't do this," I pleaded with her desperately.

She got up and I saw that I was right- she had been crying. There were still tears flowing down, but she was silent.

"Go away, Lizzie. You don't care about me, or what I do. So just do yourself a favor and get out, ok?" She slammed the door in my face, and then there was silence.

I walked back to my room in confusion.

Why does she do this? I know she wants to be let in, loved, accepted as one of our own, but then she goes and pulls a stunt like this.

Maia gets lost in the middle a lot, and she acts like she's drowning sometimes, like she can't get out.

But what is pulling her under?

I have such dramatic sisters, it's no wonder that they'll all end up on the Real Housewives of Loungbourn, New York before they're 30.

**The next day, after BritLit**

I staggered into BritLit barely on time, and there was Darcy the Village Idiot, in all of his early morning glory, staring at me.

Perhaps he is a hermaphrodite, and is having a bad case of PMS?

That would explain it.

PMS is a bitch.

"Darcy," I acknowledge him as I sank into my desk. "Still continuing with the ol' staring routine, I see. You'll make a great sheriff someday."

Nate giggled from his seat, where Eva was tickling him.

I am a bit worried about her, and I suspect that she's going to become a gorilla quite soon.

"Look, Darcy. We were doing so well, and now you have to go all mental case on me. Stop it." I pointedly said to him.

He ignored me and watched Eva and Nate.

"What?"

He narrowed his eyes as he saw Nate throw an arm around Eva. "Nothing."

I snorted. "Yeah, right. Come on, tell the nice lady in the white coat _everything."_

"No."

"Jackass."

"Why are you so mean?"

"Because you deserve it."

"I really don't."

"Says the nut job."'

He rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.

"They're happy," I told him a couple minutes later.

Darcy replied, "Real happiness is hard to see."

Who says shit like that?

"If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands!" I sang bitterly to him. "Ring a bell, Einstein?"

He didn't have time to answer because Nate overheard me and leapt up from his seat to lead our class in an impromptu sing along of 'I'm Bringing Sexy Back.'

Ah, good times, good times.

**Sacre bleu! Randomly written during French**

Now I have Justin Timberlake stuck in my head.

Screw you, Nate Bingley.

Actually not, because if I did Eva would kill me, but whatever.

Sigh.

The things we do for our friends.

**10:35 in the morning**

Matt, Joey and Luke: let's go away to Bora Bora and get drunk together.

Seriously, these guys are the reason why I love my math class.

Case in point: our class conversation today.

"Mr. Gent, why do you teach math?" Matt asked him curiously as Mr. Gent got stuck between the desk and the blackboard.

"Because I do," he retorted irritably as he struggled to get free from the viscous claws of his desk.

Editorializing is great fun.

God I'm such a nerd.

_Anyway._

Joey countered, "Sir, I believe that you should answer the question in a professional manner."

Mr. Gent stared at him in surprise, probably because that's the most coherent thing Joey's ever said in his entire life.

Suck it, Mr. Gent.

"Mr. Laurence, let me tell you that-"

Here Luke jumped in. "Mr. Gent I don't think that I can."

"What?" Mr. Gent's head whipped around to stare at Luke.

"See, here's the thing, Genty. I love a good purple bra as much as the next man," Matt said in a loud voice.

"But for me, personally? I prefer a nice pink one," Joey returned.

"What about a demi-cup?" Matt inquired.

"I need one with more suppprt," Luke told him seriously. "Can't let the girls go out without some help."

"True that!" Matt and Joey chimed.

"BOYS! Stop talking about feminine articles of support NOW!" Mr. Gent roared at them.

"Don't be a dick, Mr. Gent," Matt replied sternly. "We wouldn't want you to get called to the principal, now!"

Mr. Gent looked up at the ceiling and muttered, "10 more years, boy, and then you're done. 10 more years."

"Actually, Mr. Gent, 10 more years could theoretically stretch out for a far longer period of time, if you think about it," Luke smiled at him.

Mr. Gent nodded mechanically, said "Really?" and walked out of the room.

Victory!

Ah, love me some footballers.

Although how do they so much about bras?

Hmm.

Must investigate.

**A few minutes later**

Dear Evan and Bruce Almighty.

I just asked the boys how they knew so much about bras, and this was their reply:

"We go to Victoria's Secret when we're bored."

Joey added, "I'm a B-Cup!"

Good for you, Joey.

**Painting, how I love thee**

I'm seriously considering marrying this class.

I love it, it loves me- what's not to love?

Hahahahaha.

I crack myself up.

Anyway, Mr. Ross played the soundtrack to Mamma Mia today, and Gia and I danced around the room, singing into our paintbrushes and pretending we were middle-aged women.

"C'mon, Mr. Ross!" We pleaded with him as we cha-cha-ed around the room. "Be Pierce!"

Gia added, "He's Irish!"

Mr. Ross shook his head. "Girls, _no." _

"Suit yourself," I responded. "I'll be Pierce!"

Gia yelled triumphantly, "I'm Meryl!"

And with that, we burst into song:

"Honey honey, nearly kills me, uh-huh, HONEY HONEY!!!"

We started hip thrusting with such vigor that we knocked Lee Jacobson over.

"Sorry Lee!" I cried as he fell into a bucket of paint. "Way to rock the Cabaret look!"

Because he definitely was channeling Alan Cumming in Cabaret.

Ooh, maybe he's secretly Alan!

YES.

Mr. Ross gave up, tossed his charcoal away and joined in:

"But I suddenly lose control, there's a FIRE WITHIN MY SOUL!!!"

Uh, huh, that's right.

WE RULE.

You're totally jealous.

It's like our little tribute to ABBA band.

It made me realize that it's the simple things in life that we need.

Reasons Why It's the Simple Things that Make Us Smile:

1) Ice cream cures everything, including cavities

2) Laughter is the best medicine, so drugs can just suck it

3) Who doesn't love role playing?

4) Mud pies are freakin' _awesome_

5) It doesn't cost anything to love Johnny Depp

6) Except when you get a restraining order and you have to go court and/or prison, but that's a minor detail.

7) Plus, orange jumpsuits are universally flattering

8) Orange is the new black, bitch

**A few minutes after that**

Hahahahahahaha.

Gotta love Tina, no?

Oh dear. I just scared a little girl in the main office. Damn.

Now everyone in the third grade will think I'm some lunatic drug dealer who goes around New York disguised as a bodacious 11th grader.

**School is finally over, thank god, but only for the day, **

Have decided to buy my sisters electric dog collars so that I can zap them whenever they piss me off.

"Lizzie, why are you so pathetic?" Kat moaned to me as we returned home. "All you ever do is drive us home."

Lindsay added, "It's totally boring."

"I tried to convince God to throw us a hurricane, but he was too busy chatting with Bruce," I snapped.

"You're so cold! You don't even stop to think about how bad our social life is," Lindsay whined. "We need you to drive us by all these people's houses, and all you ever do is step on the gas!"

I have never understood that phrase, because how exactly do you step on the gas when gas is invisible?

Hmm. Quandry.

Also, it would be very awkward to step on people's butts when they fart. Not to mention embarrassing when your foot gets caught in there.

"Kat, Lindsay, suck it up and _deal," _I told them sternly. "Someday when I'm out of the house-"

"That'll never happen," Kat muttered bitterly.

"When I leave, you guys can go to all the sketchy bars you want to, but right now, I'm not taking you to cut your teeth as prostitutes, okay?" I barked.

"Prostitutes have more fun!" Lindsay remarked.

"You know what they also have more of? STD's."

That shut them up real good.

**5:16 in the afternoon**

"Lizzie! Get the door!" Kat and Lindsay yelled at me as they watched reruns of the Tyra Banks show.

I rolled my eyes and opened the door. To my surprise, Eva was standing there.

"Eva, hey! What's up?" I asked as she walked inside.

"Na-Natebroke up wi-wi-with me!" She sobbed.

"What? Why did he do that?" I demanded as she sank on the bottom step of the staircase.

"He to-told me that I wa-wasn't girlfriend ma-ma-terial!" She whimpered in pain.

I held her tightly and stroked her hair. "Nate's a dick."

"No he's no-not!" She blubbered even more desperately.

"Honey, he is. Who breaks up with their girlfriend-" she howled in response. "when their girlfriend is _totally _girlfriend material? Only dicks."

Eva cried into my shoulder, and I could feel her shaking every time she took a deep, shuddering breath.

This is why God invented the Lifetime Channel for Women.

That, and the gallon container of ice cream.

I kicked Kat and Linday out of the room- "Hey! Tyra was about to reveal his gender!"- and stationed Maia on ice cream duty, i.e. replacing the empty containers of ice cream as Eva ate her way through her heartbreak.

"Eva," I said as we finished our marathon Makeover viewing. "When you're ready to talk about it, Char and I here for you, anytime of the day, or even in the middle of the night, okay?"

She nodded and dug into the ice cream.

"Thanks," she whispered a couple minutes later.

**After Eva left**

I was tempted to go kick Nate Bingley's sorry ass, but then decided that the Crack Whore might kill me with a brutal hair toss.

So I phoned Char instead.

"Char?" I asked over the phone. "Do you think that Nate really wanted to break up with her?"

She sighed deeply. "I don't know, Lizzie. I mean, they seemed so _happy. _But maybe he's good at pretending."

I punched my wall absentmindedly and flopped back on my bed. "I just don't get it. She cried when she first came over, which is completely expected, but afterwards, she got so quiet. Like she wouldn't say anything."

"It's like 5th grade all over again, huh?" Char asked me.

"Yeah, but minus the acne."

5th grade was Eva's year of silence. She didn't say anything, didn't do anything, never moved a muscle. It was scary to see her like that, and no matter what Char and I did, we couldn't reach her. We told her parents about it, and they took her to a therapist.

I don't know if the therapist worked, because Eva came back more jittery than ever before. She was back to talking, but she was more paranoid, and it almost seemed like she had developed a wall around her, one that no one could get through.

Char and I were silent for a while, until I remarked, "Well, this means I get to kick Nate's ass. Wanna help?"

Char laughed and replied, "Hell no. I don't want to anger Darcy. He's insane when he's angry."

"He's insane all the time, Char. _Deranged. _We're not sitting with them any longer, though, so that's the good thing about this, I guess…" I trailed off hesitantly.

We talked for a couple more minutes, and planned our route to avoid Nate in the hallways tomorrow. We didn't want Eva to have to deal with any more bullshit from him.

Things like this shouldn't happen to good people.

So why do they always do?

**September 22****nd**

It looks like all of our Nate avoidance plans weren't needed.

Eva and I walked to BritLit together, and instead of the Village Idiot and Nate, we saw Alex and Marcus sitting in their spots.

Ms. Linden noticed our shock and stated, "Nate and Will thought that they were getting a little distracted, so they asked to move seats. Nothing personal, you know."

I nodded weakly and looked towards Eva.

"Hey- you ok?" I inquired. "Cause I do a mean wedgie, if you wanted me to."

She shook her head and slid into her desk.

"Hey sweet thang," Marcus drawled from Darcy's old seat when I sat down. "You lookin' gooood today. What you do with your hair?"

"Piss off. You're not a cowboy." I snapped viscously at him.

"You damn right about that! I'm your new loverboy," he winked at me and stretched out. "So when you gonna start that loving, huh? I'm waiting!"

"When you go and _die _somewhere, jackass. Fuck off."

There must be something with that seat and male stupidity.

**A few seconds later**

Nope, just the males in that seat.

God I need a nice gay boy to be my friend.

Seriously, all the great guys in this world are gay.

Where's Neil Patrick Harris when you need him?

I would very much like to have all of his children, and they'd run amuck in our charming apartment while he taught them the Bro Code and how to take over the world while singing and blogging and whatnot.

My first son will be named Dr. Horrible, and my second son will be named Barney the Womanizer, and my daughter will be named Cumin.

I know what you're thinking.

Dreams can come true, people.

You just have to believe _really _hard.

**Randomly during Math class**

Like Journey!!!

* * *

Author's Note:

I don't know when the next chapter will come up, probably sometime next week.

Never fear, though! I shall be back.

But not in a creepy Terminator way.

**Frankincense Pontipee: **Girl, I love both your name and that review. When should I book the reception hall?

**Estheria: **Same here! If only high school were fun.

**Pisicandru: **That's sweet. Thank you!

**Asianinvasion0530: **I should give you some kind of award, for reviewing as much as you do. My thanks, times a million!

And too the many other reviewers:

You rock.

:)


	7. Rainboots And Other Follies of the Heart

Author's Note:

Sorry about the delay! I got swamped with school anxieties and played the Rachel Yamagata CD I have over and over again until I was relatively sane.

The reviews warmed my heart. You guys rule, you know that?

:)

So here's the angst, served up with a side of country twang.

* * *

**October 3****rd****, life sucks and then you die**

My life is over.

I'm packing my bags, calling it quits and heading out of town.

Reasons Why It is Acceptable to Currently Be Channeling a Country Song:

1) Your best friend was recently broken up with by her boyfriend for not being "girlfriend material"

2) Said best friend was indisputably gorgeous; therefore there is no hope for you with regards to dating a person of the male persuasion

3) Also do not know what "girlfriend material" is; am worried that boys date bras

4) Your family is beating away all the competition for the titles of 'Best Example of Why Not to Procreate' and 'Best Reason to Become a Nun'

5) However, said family is not religious, so you cannot become a nun and are therefore reduced to following Paris Hilton on the path of celibacy

6) Darcy the Village Idiot is your partner for BritLit. There is a Devil.

7) The Village Idiot insists on staring daggers at you while you attempt to superglue your over-sexualized thing of a classmate (Marcus) to his seat

8) Sadly, superglue does not work, and you are therefore forced to sit on his face to shut him up

Yes, Marcus and I have a…_special _relationship.

He does not understand that I am not a lioness who is not in heat.

Marcus reads nature magazines to learn more about girls.

The world we live in.

**The next day, after BritLit**

Must.

Kill.

Darcy.

So today Ms. Linden has decided to stop torturing me with her sadistic project.

"Everyone!" She trilled as we milled about the room and settled into our seats.

Good lord she has a large mole.

Anyway.

"Today we are going to watch part of an adaptation of Bleak House! So all of you can really see the world you'll be exploring for the next couple of weeks," she beamed at us. "Will? Can you set it up?"

Who the hell is Will?

I tried to remember if I knew a Will.

"Of course, Ms. Linden," a voice replied. I turned around and lo and behold, it was the Village Idiot.

I just think of him as Darcy, not Will.

Will is, in my mind, Prince William, but whatever.

"Ms. Linden?" the Village Idiot pressed the remote. "I think we should work on our projects, instead of watch a movie."

She looked up in surprise. "Will? I make the lessons, okay?"

He nodded sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair before blurting out, "I just think our time would be better maximized, that's all."

"Will. I make the lesson plans, and I say we're watching Bleak House." She rolled her chair to the corner of the room and plopped down.

Even teachers love movie nights.

Although this is really more of a movie day but still.

The Village Idiot shut up, but while we were watching the movie, I heard mumblings and mutterings from his section of the room, all of which were basically variations of these:

"I mean, I prefer group projects where we are actually working."

"I just think that this is a waste of time."

"How are we learning?"

And my personal favorite:

"The girls aren't even good looking!"

**Argh…**

I sped out of BritLit, pissed off because of Darcy's mutterings during the movie.

Also because I had to deal with Marcus' attempted seduction of my hair.

Thank god I used Herbal Essences shampoo yesterday, or I don't think my hair would have survived.

"Ah, the lovely Lizzie!" I whipped around, looking for Marcus the Hair Rapist, and instead I found myself face to face with Fitz.

Sigh.

I knew my loverboy would save me.

I smiled quickly in response and opened my locker. Fitz sidled over to me, his hands in his pockets.

"Hmm. You did not throw yourself at me and initiate a mad make-out session. What's wrong?" He leaned against the locker banks.

"Your stupid ass cousin is what's wrong." I replied grimly as I yanked my French book out.

"Ah, I see. What did young Master Will do now?" He grinned and put his finger to his chin in mock concentration. "Let's see… try to marry you? Adopt you? Create a shrine that borderlines on stalking?"

I rolled my eyes and said crossly, "Nothing like that. He's just stupid, and he says stupid things."

"I concur." Fitz nodded his head to me in a mock salute. "But he is a good guy, Lizzie."

I snorted derisively, and he continued, "No, honestly he is. He's always there for his friends. Actually-" and here he looked around to make sure no one could hear us, "he just saved one of his best friends from a ton of embarrassment."

"What happened?" I demanded quickly, my brain whirling around. _Eva. Nate. Darcy. _

"Well, it's not as dramatic as I would have it," he smiled, "but essentially one of his best friends was dating this girl who was just using him to get popular. Bitch, huh?"

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh god.

Eva and Nate. Eva was _that _girl. Nate was _that _friend. Oh god oh fuck fuck fuck fuuuuckkkk.

"Thanks, Fitz," I said absentmindedly as I walked towards French.

"What the hell? I want to have your babies!" He bellowed back to me. I raised one of my hands in a lazy acknowledgement of that statement.

Oh god oh god.

Nate broke up with Eva because of Darcy.

Eva's heart was broken because of Darcy.

Nate was a dick because of Darcy.

And all of a sudden, it all clicked. Like Ben's stuff about him and his staring and his occasional kindness.

He was just using me as a decoy to get to Eva and screw things up with Nate.

He was the world's biggest ass-hole.

Darcy deserves to rot and rot and rot and rot and die die die die

**Fuck you, French class**

Just got yelled at for writing in here during French.

Mrs. Allen was teaching us about the French transportation system when she noticed me writing.

"Lizzie? What are you doing?" She asked me as she paused mid-lecture.

"Paying attention to you, Mrs. Allen! What else would I be doing?" I replied, smiling at her.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "Don't be smart, missy. Now explain to the class, _in French, _how the Parisian transportation system works. I'm waiting."

I made something up about how spaghetti aligns the tracks, and celebrities row motorboats, and that's how trains work.

Mrs. Allen was reading an issue of Glamour while I rambled, so I'm in the clear.

Thank you, Glamour.

I shall worship you forever.

**10:48 in the morning, the world is falling apart**

Math sucked, as Matt, Joey and Luke were out sick with 'Gent-itis' and Mr. Gent was beaming with joy.

So I walked into Painting feeling miserable, and Gia saw me and gave me a big hug while Mr. Ross flipped through his CD collection for some Jimi Hendrix.

"It'll be okay," Gia whispered as she hugged me. "Life sucks, but that's why there is ABBA."

I laughed and nodded. "I've just had a really sucky day, you know?" I sighed and added, "I hate Will Darcy."

"Why?" Gia asked quickly. Is it just me, or did she look nervous just then?

"So first of all, he just stares at me all the time," I started off with a sour grimace. "And second of all, he doesn't realize that normal people hate it. He also interrupts BritLit with his stupid questions."

Gia replied, "He doesn't sound so bad, then."

I ignored her and continued bitterly, "He broke up my best friend and her boyfriend."

"Lizzie, I'm sure he thought that it was the best thing," Gia replied slowly.

I gave her an incredulous look. "Darcy is the world's biggest jack-ass."

Gia shook her head. "Lizzie, please don't say that!"

"Why? He your lover or something?" I asked, confused.

Did Gia have a crush on the Village Idiot? Oh dear. I thought I taught her better than that!

"Oh God NO," she stated firmly. "Ewww."

"So then what's the problem with me calling him a dick?" I said curiously.

She twitched, blushed and looked down at her hands before replying, "He's my brother."

I laughed. "Gia, that's great! You know that's a sweet but _really _twisted way to cheer me up, right?"

Gia looked at me with sad eyes. "No, Lizzie, it's not a joke. He really is my brother. My full name is Georgiana Darcy, but I go by Gia."

Aw fuck NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

Fuck fuck fuck fuckity shit.

I am in a pile of shit and fuckity no's.

"Lizzie? Please say something!" She pleaded with me as I stared in the other direction.

"I trusted you." I said fiercely to her, and she shrank back from me. "I _trusted_ you. And you know what you did? You fucking _lied_ to me."

"Lizzie it's not like that! I never said anything to Will! Honestly!" She cried as she grabbed my arm to stop me from leaving. "Lizzie, please!"

I shook her off and walked over to Mr. Ross, who had found a Diana Ross CD.

"Mr. Ross?" I asked him.

"Look, Lizzie! It's Diana! Perfect for the blues," he smiled happily.

"I'm having a…feminine issue," I said lightly, and he gulped nervously.

"Er, well, in that case, I think-um, er, well," he muttered.

"I think I should go to the nurse." I told him. He nodded and weakly added, "Best of luck! With the, the, er, um…"

I walked away quickly and left Gia and Mr. Ross, with Diana Ross stuck in my head, and I remembered suddenly that Diana Ross ended up all alone, because she didn't trust anyone.

_You aren't Diana Ross, _I muttered fiercely to myself. _Stop doing this._

The girl's bathroom was closer than the nurse's, so I locked myself in a stall and made plans to mug the Darcy's on their way home from school.

**A few seconds later**

Must buy ski mask.

**Lunch with the jailbirds**

I can't miss my daily injection of citrus, so when I heard the bell I walked into the lunchroom and tried to compose myself.

"Eva!" I called over to her as she sat in our regular table, which was now empty except for her. "Save me a seat, 'k?"

She nodded and pulled out a faded People ("Jen Tells All! Brad and Angie, the Heartbreak!") to save my seat.

I headed over to the salad bar and grabbed a gallon of orange juice.

I need my citrus, damnit. Citrus cures everything.

"Lizzie, hey!" Charlotte walked over to me and eyed my orange juice. "Preparing for a war?"

"Something like that," I replied vaguely and wandered over to the salad section.

Char didn't say anything for a minute, and I made my salad in silence. She twisted her hands before suddenly saying, "I can't sit with you and Eva today."

"Why not?" I asked her. She tried to respond, but she couldn't find the words. Eventually she gestured pathetically towards the door, where Jeremiah Collins stood, in all of his transvestite Granny glory.

"_Him? _Oh come on. Char, just tell him to fuck off," I said angrily.

She replied, "I can't. He might lose interest, so I have to."

I snickered. "Char, he's a teenage _boy. _Anything that has boobs and legs interest him."

Char turned white. "Thanks for the support, Lizzie.".

She stalked away from me and grabbed Jeremiah over his exclamations of "Dearest! Love of my life, what is wrong!" and "Victoria has a Secret! Oh aren't I hilarious?"

I cannot believe that she is ditching us. For _him. _

Ewwwwwwwww.

God I hate this day. It's the suckiest day I've ever had.

I walked over to our table (I guess it's not Char's anymore) and sat down.

Eva didn't look up, just pushed her sandwich around and sighed.

We ate in silence for the first time in a while.

**1: 16 in the afternoon**

Can this day get any worse?

I walked into Bio and saw Ben wrapped around a blonde, acting as a human toilet plunger.

He noticed me staring and winked as the girl slid off his lap.

"Gotta keep in shape for you," he replied to my unasked question.

I rolled my eyes and slid into my seat.

Ben whispered to me, "PMS, huh?"

"Fuck off, Ben."

"Oh, _definitely _PMS."

"I said, fuck off."

"I heard."

"Well, then, _fuck off."_

He stared at me confusedly before saying, "Darcy got to you."

I nodded sharply and he blushed for some reason. "Look, Lizzie, he's a dick-"

"I know that," I responded dismissively. "I just hate him."

"Oh, that. Yes, well, most people do," he grinned at me and settled back into Happy-Go-Lucky Ben. "So when are you going to agree to go out with me?"

I can't deal with this.

I don't _want_ to deal with this.

Rubbing my eyes, I sighed and said, "Ben? I'm just in a sucky mood today, so that's not really a good question to ask me right now, ok? Just let it go."

Ben looked at me and muttered, "I hate when girls are like this."

I do too, Ben.

**After that hell hole P.E.**

Just wasted an hour of my life on a bench that gives my ass splinters.

Joy.

**4:30 in the afternoon**

"LIZZIE!" My mother yelled at me as soon as I got home. "Where is my raincoat?"

I paused, looked outside, and counted to 20 in my head.

"Mother, it is sunny outside." I replied through gritted teeth.

"Exactly! I need my raincoat!"

I almost responded before realizing that it is not worth it.

Also, I don't want to see my mother in her birthday suit.

**A couple minutes later**

"WOMAN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU WEARING RAIN BOOTS?"

Ah, my father and his wonderfully loud questions.

**5:01 in the afternoon, why does this happen to me?**

The doorbell rang, so I dashed frantically to open the door to prevent any innocent from seeing my mother in rainboots and nothing else.

"Hello?" I gasped, wheezing and squinting.

"Lizzie?"

Please tell me that I am hallucinating.

"Why do you sound like an elephant?"

Nope. Not hallucinating.

Will Darcy was standing on my front porch.

Aw fuck no.

"What do you want, Darcy?" I asked pointedly. "We finished our project already. Wait no, that was you, finishing it in class today. Congrats."

He shifted from side to side. "Well, it's done, so that's good."

I crossed my arms and said nothing.

"How are you?" He asked quietly, still looking at my face.

"Fan-freakin- great," I exclaimed bitterly. "And you?"

"Oh, I'm good. You know, the usual."

"The usual," I repeated.

He shrugged casually. "Well, soccer is tiring, but what is else is new?"

Um, let's see:

You broke my friend's heart; your sister lied to me; you're _still _the world's biggest ass-hole.

"Nothing," I said dully. He laughed loudly but stopped suddenly.

"Are you okay?"

I looked at him. "You're the one who showed up on my front porch."

Something I said affected him, because he quickly muttered, "I'll see you later, Lizzie" and sprinted to his car.

What the hell?

**Oh god tell me this is not happening**

I looked around and saw my mother, standing in a raincoat, peering at Darcy's car.

"Lizzie, you sty-" she means sly, I think- "thing! You never told me you had a boyfriend! Oooh, his car looks just like Brad's from 2004! Can you believe what he did to Jen?"

And then I realized that it was not me, but my nudist monkey of a mother, who scared Darcy away.

My mother, the Darcy repellent.

I should clone her and sell her on the black market.

**8:00 at night, still same shitty day**

I swear the aliens are trying to kill me.

That, or they want to make me go insane.

In which case, Job well done, boys.

Bonus points for the pouring rain, too.

But anyway, insanity is one door down from my room.

Case in point: our dinner conversation tonight.

_My mother asks randomly_: "Hugh?"

_My father replies, stupidly_: "Yes, Melanie?"

(Here my mother adopts a drugged out look)

_My mother the drug addict: _"I'd like a new set of boobs."

_The Siamese Twins: _"Oooh, are we talking about Christmas lists?!"

(Clearly Santa is the world's greatest supplier of boobs.)

_My father who reads the calendar for fun: _"Girls, it's only October."

_Maia interjects: _"Only October?"

_The Siamese Twins huff: _"Only two months till plastic surgery! Woot woot!"

_My father winces in pain: _"No 'woot-wooting' at the dinner table, please!"

(Cannot believe my father just said that.)

_My mother, suddenly excited: _"That's what Kate told Jon!"

_Me:_

_My father:_

_My mother nods to the Siamese Twins, who nod conspiratorially back: _"Kate and Jon, the Romeo and Juliet of our generation! Keep up, Lizzie. Please."

(Cannot believe that my mother thinks that Jon and Kate are the Romeo and Juliet of my generation. Cannot believe that she thinks she is part of my generation.)

_Maia: _"What?"

At which point the doorbell rang again, so I sprang up and sprinted from the room, but Kat and Lindsay beat me to it.

"Hello, is Lizzie available?"

Kill me. Now. Please.

It was the Village Idiot, back for more.

"LIZZIE!" Lindsay yelled as Kat pulled down her t-shirt. "Some hot guy is here for you!"

I pushed her out of the way and stepped onto the porch, where Darcy was dripping water.

Damn that boy looks good when he is wet.

Oh no BAD LIZZIE.

He paced back and forth before saying in a rush, "I tried to tell you before, earlier, but I couldn't. I can now, though. I will do it."

"Excuse me?" I asked. "What the hell are you talking abo-"

I didn't get to finish because he kissed me.

Sweet baby Jesus.

He cradled my neck and deepened the kiss, pushing me against the door.

Oh god he kisses well.

Wait no- this is Darcy- this is wrong, I should stop.

I pushed him off me and tried not to focus on the feel of his lips.

Soft, sweet, then not sweet, not sweet at all, then passionate, then SHUT UP LIPS.

I put my lips in a time-out and faced Darcy, who was breathing heavily and staring at me.

"Lizzie, I like you, and I'm sorry that I did that but I had to- you're driving me insane, just seeing you makes me go crazy. You are probably the worst person I could date, but I don't care about that. I don't care about what my friends will think because all I want is you," he finished, smiling at me, still dripping all over our welcome mat.

Oh my gitty fucking god.

He likes me.

Will Darcy likes me.

Oh my god.

"Lizzie? Please say something," he said desperately.

I can't believe I didn't realize that Gia and the Village Idiot were siblings.

They really are alike.

I looked right at him and said, "I'm sorry, but I don't like you. I appreciate the fact that you came over to tell me this, but I don't feel the same way."

He stopped pacing and stared at me. "_What? _Why, may I ask, do you not feel the same way? I came over here because I felt sure that you liked me."

I snorted and he added, "You were always flirting with me."

"Me? Flirting? With you?" I rolled my eyes and glared at him. "That's so typical, Will. Of course it's _my _fault that you like me. It's probably also _my _fault that I'm so below you, isn't it? Isn't that true?"

Will turned white. "No I didn't mean that, it just-"

"Slipped out?" I returned. "But even if you hadn't said that, I _still _wouldn't like you."

He looked as if someone had punched him. "What?"

"How could I like you, knowing that you had broken my best friend's heart?" I cried, and watched him turn even paler. "Do you deny it?"

"No I don't. She was indifferent towards Nate. I watched her, and saw that she was just using him to get popular."

"She's shy!" I exclaimed furiously. "She doesn't even show her true feelings to me!"

I crossed my arms. "And what about Ben? How can you explain your way out of that situation?"

Will twitched and clenched his jaw. "_Ben."_

"Yes, Ben, your _friend!" _I spat at him, livid. "Your _friend, _your best friend, who you ditched because he wasn't rich enough to hang out with your other jackass friends. _You disgust me._"

He stared at me, suddenly looking very small. "This is your opinion of me?"

When I stared coolly in the other direction, he slammed his fist on the railing and walked towards his car.

Will drove away quickly, and I walked weakly back into the house.

"Lizzie! What were you two doing out there?" Kat demanded as soon as she saw me.

Lindsay smirked at her and replied, "Will Darcy, huh, Lizzie? Nice choice!"

I pushed past them and barreled upstairs into my room.

**In the middle of the night**

Just spent 5 hours listening to Bono wail.

My mother joined me in my vigil, and I was quite touched by the gesture.

Until she pulled out my CD and turned on the radio to find Lindsay Lohan's new single, "Bossy."

"I'm JUST A LITTLE BOSSY! I like it how I like it!" She started thrusting around my room and snapping her fingers. Lindsay and Kat overheard her and ran up to my room, screaming "LiLO WE LOVE YOU!" before they started pole-dancing with my fan.

I must be adopted.

**1:00 in the morning**

Just looked in my father's study for my birth certificate, and I am sadly not adopted.

Not to worry.

I'll just grow a beard and join the circus.

* * *

Author's Note:

My fab three (Pisicandru, Frankincense and Asianinvasion) were joined by two more!

Lovelies, you made my day.

**Pisicandru: **I was debating having the Crack Whore break them up, but I decided last minute to keep it canon. I couldn't think of a better reason than the one I used, but I'm curious to know your thoughts about it!

**Frankincense Pontipee: **Neil Patrick Harris lovers in DA HOUSE!!! I shall look into the reception hall, and might I suggest that all guests go shopping at J. Crew? And I totally agree: who isn't rooting for the Plus 8?

**Asianinvasion0530: **Another crown for the longest review. College applications, hmm? Try to keep your sanity! Chocolate milkshakes are a definite must. I also suggest the following movies: Sleepover, What a Girl Wants, A Cinderella Story, and the Lizzie McGuire Movie.

**WalkingWit: **I can't say! My lips are sealed when it comes to Maia. Just keep reading! ABBA is the light of my life. Love them.

**Dontstealmyvitaminies: **Here comes my adoring fan shriek: "OH MY GOD I LOVE YOUR STORIES!!! I TOO HAVE A SHRINE BUILT TO THEM!!! I ALSO WISH TO HAVE YOUR CHILDREN!!!" Sorry, had to do it. Although the whole 'guts hanging on the wall' image is definitely preventing me from eating more ice cream.

Reviews are to me what raincoats are to Mama Bennet.

The love of my life.

Keep 'em coming, and thanks for all the support!


	8. In Which Lizzie Loses It

Author's Note:

*looks at last update date, shrugs sheepishly and then throws herself at awesome reviewers' feet and begs for forgiveness with this long, possibly sucky chapter*

Longest chapter yet?!

Woot woot?

(This is my second awkward way of apologizing.)

Suggestions, comments, and random life advice tips are always welcome.

* * *

**The Day Before All Hallows Eve**

I feel like All Hallows Eve is pretty self explanatory but Eva is sometimes a moron.

So we're at school, having lunch and all, when I realized something life changing.

"Eva." I whispered urgently to her after having my epiphany.

"Hmm?"

Good lord for my best friend this girl is really out of it sometimes.

I smiled helpfully- wait how do you smile helpfully- and replied slowly, "Honey. It is October 30th. What day is tomorrow?"

She rolled a potato around on her plate and squinted her eyes together. She does this often when she's thinking.

Also, when she's having an allergic reaction.

"Shooting blanks?" I suggested kindly. I patted her hand and nodded wisely, sympathizing for about a minute before stating, "ALL HALLOWS EVE, BITCHES!"

Okay so maybe I didn't _actually _say "All Hallows Eve, bitches!" but it would have been _really _cool if I had.

Go with me, people.

Anyway.

"All….Hallows….Eve?" She repeated like it was her Chinese test or something. "Um, Lizzie?"

"Yes, darling?"

I feel like it is my god given duty to help my friends, I really do. I do such a good job, I should be a saint or something.

Saint Lizzie.

Me like-y.

"What is All Hallows Eve?"

"Oh for fuck's sake Eva are you _seriously _asking me this? It's basic, I mean! Honestly, how can you NOT know this? God sometimes I just don't even-"

Okay so just for the record Eva says I continued in this vain for about 30 minutes.

I categorically deny it.

It was more like a cool 10.

So basically it ended up with me explaining to her that 'All Hallows Eve' is Halloween.

When I called up Charlotte to rant to her about this, I expected some comfort. Some soothing, "Oh no, Saint Lizzie! Never!" smooth as Ginseng-tea wisdoms.

Instead I got Rational-My-Ass Charlotte Lucas. The following passage is a direct quote.

"Lizzie. Shut up. Okay, so I know from Jer-" Oh how cute she calls the cross dressing grandma from the dead _Jer. _"imiah-" Okay maybe I can be a little hasty.

WAIT THIS IS NOT A DIRECT QUOTE DAMNIT MY LITERARY SELF.

FINE.

Here it is:

"Lizzie. Shut up. Okay, so I know from Jeremiah that something happened with you and Will. No I refuse to call him the Village Idiot like you do. Shut up. And because I've known you _way _too long, I know that your bitchy, screw you, rant at Eva for not knowing your stupid, dumbass way of calling Halloween 'All Hallows Eve'- by the way, you _totally _stole that from Vincent Price- is really just your way of getting your anger and sexual tension and/or frustration over that stud muffin Will Darcy out. When you speak to me again in a month, you'll know I'm right. Cheers."

Can someone say, "PMS?"

When I am crowned as Saint Lizzie, she is so not on the invite list.

**A couple seconds later**

Fuck.

I am beginning to sound a lot like the Crack Whore.

This is not good.

**5:00 in the afternoon**

Just spent the past 2 hours of my life watching heartwarming commercials on YouTube and making my All Hallows- _fine, _Halloween- costume.

I am now Crack Whore-rhetoric-free!

The blinds have been lifted off of my soul, I can see the breeze, the clean air, the joy of living, my free spirit has RE-_TURNED!_

I really must stop watching the Gospel channel whenever I'm home sick.

**A few minutes after that**

Okay fine.

I really must stop watching the Gospel channel whenever I'm home sick and/or have free time/hate my life/wish to join a choir full of loving people who will protect me from my family.

Happy?

**In the middle of the night**

HALLELUJAH!

Is the name of a heartbreaking song written by Leonard Cohen and covered marvelously by Jeff Buckley.

On a random note:

My All Hallows Eve TAKE THAT CHAR BITCH LUCAS costume is going to be legen- _wait for it- _DARY.

Oh, Neil.

Why are you be gay?

Wait that came out wrong.

Hmm.

I was going for "Why are you gay?" and "Why must you be gay?" and got "Why are you be gay?"

Sigh.

The world is against me.

Anyways.

My costume this year smacks of brilliancy, as I am going as a spoon.

Be jealous.

**Finally! TIS ALL HALLOWS EVE!!!**

All Hallows Eve might just be my favorite holiday.

Reasons Why All Hallows Eve is My Favorite Holiday:

1) Am allowed to quote endlessly from the Vincent Price All Hallows Eve special on SNL. If being honest: am allowed to quote endlessly from the V.P.A.H.E.S on SNL in my mind. In the real world, not so much.

2) Free candy.

3) Agony for dentists and orthodontists across the nation. Suck it, bitches.

4) Wait all of my orthodontical- _it's a word- _peeps were male. Hmm. Quandry.

5) Get to dress up in costumes and show off your famed creativity, which has produced such glories as: _Blanket-Not Michael Jackson's Child-But the Thing- _2002; _A Piece of Gum- _2001, and the universal favorite: _The Proactiv Commercial- _2007

6) The All Hallows Eve dance held by Longbourn High, actually not as crappy as it would seem.

Seriously, people. Hear me out.

So basically the Halloween dance occurs because the school is terrified by the idea of thousands of hormonal high schoolers fanning out across the streets of Longbourn.

Now that I think about it, so am I.

Anyway.

The dance is basically the best damn thing, because everyone shows in questionable get-ups (my words, not the school's) and dances to crappy music and laughs a lot.

It is the love of my life.

This year I am forced to bring Maia and the Siamese Twins to the dance, as my parents have decided that I am to have no social life and/or sanity under their roof.

Case in point: this conversation a couple weeks ago.

_As I enter the living room, I notice both parents sitting. Dazed and confused, I inquire: _Good god is the world ending?

_My mother gasps and leaps out of the room, ostensibly to save her J. Lo stalker photos from impending destruction_

_My father: _Very funny, Lizzie.

_Me, witty and charming as always: _So. Que pasa?

_My father is confused by Spanish: _What the fuck? MELANIE! ARE YOU BRINGING OVER THAT MARC FELLOW TO MEET OUR CHILDREN!?!

_My mother slinks back into the living room and says with a sniff: _Marc Antony and I are Facebook friends.

_My father's imaginary facial hair and jaw muscles twinge in what he presumes is a threatening way but really just reeks of desperation: _Well my yearbook is a hell of a lot better than his facebook ever will be.

_Me:_

_My mother says in a wounded tone: _What?

_My father: _Well, Melanie, I am just asking which is something as your- Lizzie, take Maia and Kat and Lindsay to the danceor else- husband I deserve, damnit MELANIE!! NO CRYING! I LEARNED THAT FROM DR. PHIL DAMNIT!

So I had to take them to the dance.

**At the dance**

Okay so maybe I have a tendency to romanticize everything in my life.

That scar on my knee?

Yeah, it's a scar- from a BATTLE IN EGYPT. What what!

My lack of romance?

WAIT THIS LEADS ME TO WILL I MEAN THE VILLAGE IDIOT OH GOD HE KISSES GOOD SHUT UP LIZZIE.

Johnny Depp is just watching and waiting.

And the Halloween Dance?

Yeah.

I kinda have no excuses there.

So I'm standing there in my wicked spoon costume and Kat and Lindsay have disappeared into the boys bathroom to test their careers as prostitutes.

Thank god for Maia. She's just wearing jeans and a t-shirts and a general "Fuck you, world," look.

Love it.

My loverboy Fitz also loves it, only he's a tad bit- okay fine he's sopping drunk (have _always _wanted to say that) so he's more mental than usual.

"Gertrude, Gertrude, Gertrude," he croons upon seeing Maia.

"It's Maia, jackass."

He opens his eyes wide and snaps his fingers. "You got it, baby."

Maia rolls her eyes and stares up at the ceiling.

"Fitz, let's get you some water, ok?" I ask him gently and try to pry his fingers away from Alison Steward's neck. "Not the right time to go all Edward Cullen on me."

He laughs hysterically and nearly pisses himself.

Success! Alison Steward slaps him and stalks off. Fitz is unphased by this and continues to guess Maia's costume.

"Batman?"

"I'm a _girl."_

"Sexy Librarian?"

"Do I _look _like I care?"

"Desperate Sophomore?"

"I'm a _freshman, _dumbass."

"Oh, I _get _it! You're the Virgin Mary!" Fitz states triumphantly, one finger pointed at Maia's face gleefully. "Excellent, excellent."

She glares at him. "I'm not the Virgin Mary."

An audible gulp. "Err- you're not?"

"I'm myself." Maia crosses her arms.

Oh, _burn._

Good lord I have the humor of a 5th grader.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA.

Anyway.

Fitz tugs slightly at his collar, looks at the ceiling, mutters, "Aw, _shit_" and then bursts into a rousing rendition of 'Lady Madonna.'

Unfortunately, due to the fact that the noise level in the room is akin to that of a small rocket launching, some of us do not have good hearing skills and by some of us I mean the Crack Whore, who lunges onto the dance floor like a hyena upon hearing the word 'Madonna.'

Oh my gitty god.

The Crack Whore is Vogue-ing it.

"Strike a pose, strike a pose, strike a pose," she sings loudly (and off-key I might add) in what she assumes must be an alluring voice. "_Willy-" _

"Wonka is a charming character in a Roald Dahl book!" I smile winningly (Who's not thinking of Will Darcy? That would be me, party of one) at her barred fangs (ye-_aaahh _editorializing) and begin my well-patented Can't Touch This dance.

It goes like this:

_Can't touch this _

(Look at crowd, raise eyebrow, point to neck- TWILIGHT REFERENCE!!! SHUT UP LIZZIE-, nod like a rapper)

_Do do do, do do, do do_

(Shuffle back and forth, do a couple twirls, then throw the pizza, repeat shuffles)

_Can't touch this_

(Wink, do a chest bump with one of the footballers, ignore pain from said chest bump, then raise arms to ceiling and shake hair ala one of the Pantene commercials)

_Do do do, do do, do do_

(Slow-mo robot time)

_Don't know the rest of the lyrics_

(Mad improv skill time; usually involves me and Luke/Matt/Joey doing some version of the Subtle Sexuality video)

_Really don't know rest of lyrics_

(Couple of booty slaps, more tossing of the pizza [not a euphemism for anything sketchy], then a lip synching moment under the disco ball)

_Finally back to safer ground with CAN'T TOUCH THIS_

(Grand finale: Dump water on self.)

Cue applause.

**The next morning**

Am too tired to get out of bed.

Am now aware of how it feels to be MC Hammer.

Minus the whole male thing he has going on.

**A couple minutes later**

In an attempt to connect with my now MC Hammer self, I decided to make a trek to the bathroom and use a stick of my father's deodorant, so as to familiarize myself with the male aspect of Hammer, aka moi.

"Lizzie?" My mother whipped out from behind a shower curtain, clutching an issue of _Sexy Momma_. I screamed and drop kicked our porcelain toothbrush holder. "Is that you?"

No, it is clearly a rapist disguised as your daughter, Lizzie Bennet.

I sighed and counted to 20 in my head before replying, "Yep! You got me!"

She frowned suspiciously like she always does whenever I'm happy and snapped, "Lizzie. According to this month's issue of _Sexy Momma-" _I am not listening, I am not listening, I am not listening oh please God why me- "The only way to achieve the true state of sexiness is to be appreciated fully. And you do not appreciate me."

"Mother. As with lots of words in the dictionary, appreciate has more than one meaning."

"Like bird call!"

What.

She slapped the shower curtain excitedly and shoved _Sexy Momma_ in my face. "Look!"

Reasons Why I Would Rather Not Look at this issue of _Sexy Momma:_

1) The last time I looked at the cover of one of my mother's magazines, I was disturbed to find out that she needs to know "How to Communicate with That Hot Professor!"

2) Was not aware that my mother was at college. Ever. Suddenly, all those looks of fear and anxiety on parent's faces at Freshman Orientation Day make sense.

3) Sexy Momma. 'Nough said.

4) Would rather _not _know how to "Bring the Fire to His Pants!"

5) My mother the firefighter wastes thousands of dollars that could be spent bettering my future on said magazine. When I am working at McDonald's and flirting with men who have beer bellies and low self-esteem, it will all be _Sexy Momma's _fault.

Instead of listing one of my reasons, I stared vaguely at the left hand corner of the magazine and imagined Michael Buble was crooning to me.

There, that's better.

Okay no.

"Look- right _there,_" she said reverently. I tore myself away from Michael and forced my eyes to look.

Dear Evan and Bruce Almighty.

"Bird Calls: Not Just Your Average Mockingbird; Bird Calls Help You Conquer That Sex Drive," I read aloud as quietly as I could.

My mother put her hands on her hips and smiled triumphantly at me. "_See_, Lizzie? Who is in the dictionary now, hmm?"

I just looked at her but she was already slinking back into the safety of the shower curtain.

Good lord my life is strange.

**November 4****th****, please kill me**

The SAT's have landed.

Well technically the PSAT but only the College Board is that anal.

I mean, please. PSAT? Pee-sat? And sat? It's like some crack pot old fool named them.

Dumbledore: I LOVE YOU.

Anyway.

Today the juniors have to "sit the PSATS, so as to prepare for you future!"

That is what the peppy flier handed out by my teachers says, and IT IS ALL LIES.

So instead of lounging peacefully on the quad and all that crap, I am forced to sit in a tiny room that is wider than it is tall- er that makes no sense- and take a dumbass test which I know will freak me out and reduce me to angry tears.

My mother's tearful recitations of the Twilight Saga at the dinner table have not been helping my self image.

**After the PSAT's, to which I metaphorically say: there is no life after them**

Someone in the Fate Office has it in for me, I swear.

So I walk into the room, right, and instantly Ms. Linden forces me into my assigned seat with a mocking, "You'll be fine, Lizzie!"

I hear someone say something and assume it's just my inner self until someone brushes my shoulder gently and whispers, "Lizzie?"

I whipped around in my seat and found myself literally face to face with the one, the only, the Mr. Will Darcy of Village Idiot fame, who had previously kissed the be-jeesus out of me in the rain.

No. I hate him. I hate him hate him hate him I love him I SHUT IT HORMONES.

I thought about running for it but he must have seen it because he said darkly, "I'm not here to repeat anything that I told you, okay? I just… I wanted to, um, clarify, a couple of things."

He twisted around in his seat and pulled an envelope out of his backpack, handed it to me, and walked away.

I didn't want to open it but I did. I am a stupid, stupid, person.

_Lizzie, _it said,

_I know you're probably going to throw this in the trash can_- shut up, you stalker- _but you have to hear me out. I'm not going to throw a bunch of crappy love songs at you, so no worries there. (_I am practically wrinkle free of worry, thank you very much.)

_Nate's my best friend, and he's a good guy, a great guy, but he gets used a lot because he's such a great person. I hate seeing him being used, and because girls usually use him to get popular, I just assumed that Eva was doing the same. And for that, I'm sorry. _

_But when it comes to Ben, I can't apologize, as I did nothing wrong. _(Liar.) _Ben and I grew up together, and my grandfather admired his parents tremendously. Ben and my grandfather had always gotten along well. But Ben abused my grandfather's kindness and _

I stopped reading. I didn't want to know. No. Ben is a nice guy, a bit of a douchebag but a nice guy. He works at the freakin' Golden Egg. He is a nice guy.

But I continued reading. I had to.

_Ben abused my grandfather's kindness and trust. He asked for some money for an AP class and my grandfather stupidly gave it to him. _

_Ben did not take the AP class. He took the money and bought drugs. He used them and got high and tried to- _in this section the handwriting looked like it had almost tore the paper- _tried to make out with my sister. I know that might not seem that bad to you, but I'm her older brother, and God Lizzie, if you could have seen her then, it just…_

Oh, my God.

Gia.

_I found him and immediately told my grandfather. The rest of the story, that of Ben being ostracized, you already know. _

_-Will_

_P.S. Fitz wanted me to tell you that he liked your MC Hammer dance._

Needless to say, I kicked ass on my PSAT's.

**November 5****th****, 10:06 at night**

I've read that letter about 100 times now.

And I know that a guy trying to make out with your sister isn't that bad. That's what I told myself, and I almost believed it, but then Gia kept appearing in my head- not in a freaky, oh hello there mushroom way- and I realized why Will did it.

Because when someone screws with someone you love, you don't think or plan or rationalize; you just do whatever the hell it is you have to do to protect them, and hope that it's enough to bring them back into the light.

That's all that we can ask for, really.

**A couple seconds later **

Just in case I wasn't clear and all: the reason I kicked ass on my PSAT's was because I was angry.

Must go find citrus and tell my mother that the world is ending, save your J. Lo pictures.

Oh, and if you are Ben Wickham:

Go die.

* * *

Author's Note:

Your reviews are so amazing, and I know that everyone always say that, but I honestly think I've hit the jackpot with you guys.

So to recap:

I AM SO SORRY.

The next update will probably come around mid-December (I KNOW) or whereabouts because this year has been killing me in cruel and kind ways.

And one last thing:

J. Crew= my secret, 'I wanna be like the Kennedy's! love.

Happy Turkey Day break!


	9. Let the Games Begin

Author's Note:

I'm BAAAAAAAAAACKKKK!

Hope y'all like this chapter, I liked writing sexy Will.

Reviews are the Crack to my Whore.

* * *

**November 10****th**

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

My life.

**November 10****th****, at school**

I feel like school is really training for future combat missions on Mars where we will have to avoid hot, hot, young males and stunning examples as to why two people should not procreate.

So after Will gave me the letter, I just…ignored him.

God I hate being honest!

Because Lizzie knows when Lizzie is a bitch and right now, Lizzie is a bitch.

Bitch Check List:

1) Ignore guy who spilled his soul to you? Check!

2) Ignore said guy's sister who got messed with by a dickhead? Check!

3) Avoid dickhead because you don't know how to confront him? Check!

4) Cry about your life to walls? Check!

And so forth.

My only conversation with Will in the past week was this:

_Lizzie: _Will! Hey, Will!

_Will, turning and looking all bits of HAWT, LOLS: _Yeah?

_Lizzie:_ I just..um..wanted..

_Will: _

_Lizzie: _The English homework?

When I said that, his face fell. Like I had just crushed any hope he'd had left in his soul.

"Read the next two chapters." He said to me dully before walking away.

Bye bye, Will. Hello, Darcy.

That's when I went into the bathroom and started crying.

I blame it on my hormones.

**The next day**

That was _fast._

Will has gone to sending me soulful gazes across the room to hating me in 24 hours.

I walked into BritLit and saw the Crack Whore sitting on his lap. She shot me a death glare and Will started kissing her neck.

I gave the Crack Whore the finger and maturely ignored Will _Darcy the Village Idiot._

Okay fine. I gave them both the finger and sang rap in my head for the entire class.

Happy?

**At lunch, in the bathroom**

I mean it's not really my fault that I don't know how to say sorry.

Or admit that I might have been wrong.

I did see Ben today.

"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie." He handed me a test tube during Bio and I damn near punched him in the balls.

Instead, I said, "Dumbass," and _smiled. _

What the hell is wrong with me?

**Char needs to be my friend again**

OH in addition to all the above shittery, Char has stopped being my friend.

Apparently Jeremiah the Transvestite has said that, "Our friendship is detrimental to their true love."

Prick.

The worst part is that right before I go to bed, Char appears in my head (not in a lesbian way) and berates me for being a fuckhead.

"Lizzie, you and Will are playing a very dangerous game. Shut up. That is what you're doing, you smiling at Ben and him flirting with the Crack Whore. But the thing is, one of you is going to crack and go too far. And when that happens, it's going to be hell. You're both too competitive for your own good _and _neither of you likes to admit that you're wrong. When Will wrote that letter, he admitted he was wrong. He laid it all on the line, and what did you do? You pretended like nothing happened."

I told Char to shut up and fell asleep dreaming of Will marrying the Crack Whore.

_**Why.**_

Sometimes I really do think that my life is like the Truman Show, and that I am currently staring in a soap opera.

If that is the case, I'd like to be the sexy murderer.

That might explain this little juicy piece of gossip:

_The Crack Whore comes up to me and smiles, oozing toxic charm: _Li-

_Me: _No.

_The Crack Whore: _Miss Eliza, there is _no _need to be ashamed. None at all!

_Me, thinking that someone has found out about my chronic case of snorting: _Up yours?

_The Crack Whore, looking momentarily confused: _What did you just say?

_I enunciate loudly and clearly, all while providing the appropriate gestures: _Up. Yours.

_The Crack Whore sniffs: _I _came _over here to tell you that your undying love for Will is nothing to be ashamed of, but given that, well, how shall I put this?

**(It is IMPERATIVE to note that she looked like a smug drunk clown right here)**

_The Crack Whore: _Because Will and I ARE an item and in love for eternity, I would like to remind you that I have no problems fighting you and putting you in a cast for the next 10 years.

_Me, ever the cheerleader: _Likewise!

I swear to God that I heard a low chuckle when I said that. A suspiciously low, Will-Sounding sexy chuckle.

NO NOT THE SEXY CHUCKLE.

**Let the games begin**

I think he is trying to kill me.

He has also taken to wearing tight fitting white t-shirts which, needless to say, I find very distracting.

Take BritLit the other day:

I was sitting in class, minding my own business, contemplating how many years I'd get if I up and killed Marcus the Hair Rapist, you know, normal shiz like that when Will walked up to Ms. Linden and asked quietly, "I just- I just don't _get _it." Of course he leaned in really close to her and of _course _his shirt slipped up a little bit.

I am immune to such displays and in control of my hormones, thank you very much. I did not make a small noise like "a wounded cat" (Eva's words, not mine) and proceed to stare lustily at Will for the next 5 minutes (again, Eva) as Ms. Linden blushed and explained the concept of curtains to Will.

"Oh, so you mean they _cover _the windows!" He hit his head lightly and beamed at Ms. Linden, who looked waaaaaay too flustered to be a teacher. "God if only I had realized that before!" He smiled at her, the smile he used to give me when he thought I wasn't looking, and then he walked back to his seat.

This is not fair. This is not fair.

**At lunch**

"It is _so _fair and you know it, Lizzie Bennet," Eva tells me at lunch.

God, first Nate dumping her and now this. I honestly don't think I can take much more of her Oprah-deduced wisdom. I'll take my clueless half-gorilla friend back, please.

I almost snort at her and then I remember my run-in with the Crack Whore, so I adjust mid-snort and settle for a ladylike stifled whine.

"What the hell was that?"

Ignoring this, I poke holes in my juicebox (yeah, I am that cool) and declare moodily, "Well, you know. He did kiss me."

Eva just looks at me.

I continue, "That means he clearly has unresolved emotional aggression issues, which indicate that he would be an unhappy mate. Also, when he pushed me against the wall? Yeah. Not really feeling that. Nope. Not at all."

Eva nods, and I think she's returned to normal until she pats my hand and asks me quietly, "Reading Jane Goodall as bedtime stories again?"

**November 20****th****, after school**

Oh sweet baby Jesus.

Okay. Okay. Okay. I am calm. I shall remain calm. In fact, I am the Queen of Calm. Yeah that's right, all the bitches be jealous of my sereni-

OH MY FUCKING GOD I WANT TO KILL HIM I WANT TO KILL HIM DESTROY HIM

Reasons Why I Want to Kill Will Darcy:

1) He is Will Darcy

2) When you are attempting to ignorez-vous him into the next century, he is suddenly everywhere, like some psychotic Whack-A-Mole but with tighter whiter shirts (hahahaha that rhymes)

3) OH GOD THE SHIRTS

4) When you gracefully arrange yourself on the floor after your foot said hello to a crack in the sidewalk, your friends laugh and walk away

5) Okay, so that has really has nothing to do with the Village Idiot

6) Except he has, you know, _friends_

7) When you are verbally jousting with the Crack Whore, he decides to run past you. Shirtless. Sweaty. On the soccer field.

8) I REPEAT: shirtless. sweaty.

"I feel like you have not grasped this concept," I urgently tell Eva during lunch. She ignores me and eats a piece of her bagel.

"_Shirtless. Sweaty." _I repeat like a mantra. "_Shirtless. Sweaty."_

"Damn Lizzie, I had no idea you wanted me that bad."

"Hey, Fitz."

The man in question smirks at me and pulls up a chair. He nods to Eva and she nods back. What is this, some kind of crap spy movie? Where are the explosions? And where, may I ask, is the unbridled sexual tension?

When I told Fitz this, he laughed hysterically and wheezed for the next 5 minutes. I arranged my face in a dignified position.

He managed to get out between wheezes, "Explosions….sexual….tension…you….Will…ahahahahahahahahahahaha."

At which point I slapped that bitch senseless.

**A couple minutes later**

When I was six, I wanted to be in a gang.

Just saying.

**Same day, 5:04 in the afternoon**

He Who Shall Not Be Named just called me.

He said we "need to talk."

Nope, buddy.

NOT FALLING FOR THAT ONE.

I am a strong, successful, woman. I love my career and my family and I'm not going to- wait hold the phone.

Dear Bruce Almighty I _really _need to stop watching Lipstick Jungle reruns when I have my period.

But no, the last time the Whack-A-Mole and I "talked," he pushed me against a wall and kissed me like we were the only two people on the Earth.

Er…not that I particularly remember that incident.

Or how his hands are so perfect, all callaused and warm and soft and lovely and

**My body is a traitor**

I am actually drooling right now.

Well, this is embarrassing.

Going to bed, as I have no dignity left in my body.

**Oh no**

Just woke up to the sound of my mother belting out Christina Aguilera songs like there is no tomorrow.

**A couple second later**

"Words can't, bring me DOWN! CAUSE I AM BEAUTIFUL! I AM BEAUTIFUL, WORLD! I AM A STUNNER, BORN FROM A GUNNER, ON THE RUNNER! OFF TO SAVE THE DAY! YOU CAN BET ON ME!"

"MELANIE! DR. PHIL SAYS THAT I SHOULD NOT BE FORCED TO LISTEN TO SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SONGS BY MY WIFE!"

"YOU CAN BET ON ME!!!!!!"

My mother watches High School Musical 2 when she has her mid-day snack of Vodka and saltine crackers. Apparently, it's "super healthy and good my for bod-ay."

This explains why the Siamese Twins find the insult of 'ho ho' such a self-esteem boost.

**A couple minutes after that**

Oh god. Now it's High School Musical 2 Mash Up Time.

The last time she did, she went about the house crooning "Right here, right now! The boys are back!" in a way that made me suspect my mother of reading Urban Dictionary.

Also: those are mos def NOT the lyrics to 'Beautiful' by Christinia Aguilera.

I should know.

That was my ANTHEM when I was 5, yo.

**4:04 in the afternoon, still same day**

OH GOD IT IS FAMILY DUET TIME.

**Beauty, yeah yeah yeah, I'm BEAUTIFUL**

In a dramatic attempt to change my life and gain some maturity points, I got my hair cut.

I must admit that I look damn good, like a younger, less crack-potty Kate Moss.

Off to go stare at myself in the mirror.

Ciao.

**5 hours later**

FUCK.

I have a crick in my neck from staring at myself and making model poses, and now my neck is bent at an awkward angle.

I look like a drunk male prostitute- DO NOT ASK ME HOW I KNOW THAT.

Point 1 for Lizzie.

**November 16th**

Two can play this game.

I "borrowed" one of Eva's sexy dresses and sqeeuzed myself in. I'm walking around like a drunken giraffe but hey, I look _good._

Eat your heart out, Whack-A-Mole.

**Oh God tell me this is not happening**

My mother's epic reenactments of the Twilight Saga at dinner time have started to gain artistic credibility.

Today, she wore a black cape and waved her arms about frantically to communicate "vampire depression."

The following conversation is both sad and amusing, and will surely provide excellent fodder for my upcoming therapy sessions:

_My mother enters the dimly lit room where the innocents eat food and announces in a hushed tone: _Tonight, I present to you: the TWILIGHT SAGA, NEW MOON EDITION.

(Here the Siamese Twins scream lustily as if they've just seen La Cullen)

_Me: _Fuck no.

_My father looks like he is about to cry as he begs desperately: _Oh please God Melanie stop or else I will have to tell Mrs. Robinson again that we aren't practing voodoo.

(Maia smiles secretly to herself)

_My mother presses on and declares boldly: _We return to the scene of the love with Edward and Bella, who are torn apart, once again, by the WORLD.

_Me: _What's this Italian accent I hear?

_The Siamese Twins proclaim jointly: _Oooh, Italian guys.

_My father, now in complete hysterics: _MELANIE WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT GUYS FROM THE GYM?!?! DID I NOT _EXPRESSLY _SAY THAT WHAT HAPPENS IN SPIN CLASS _STAYS _IN SPIN CLASS?

_My mother ignores the interruptions and presses a hand to her heart: _Now the stage is set for a drama like none WE HAVE EVER SEEN.

_Maia stands up: _Okay. I'm leaving now.

_Lindsay: _Ciao!

_My father: _What.

_My mother hunches over and deepens her voice as she goes into character as 'Edward': _Bella. This is the last time I will ever see you. Ever. Ever. I will be going…far…away…from…you. _She then flaps her arms wildly and stares at all of us._

_Me:_

_My father:_

_The Siamese Twins: _BASTARD!

_My mother beams widely at the Siamese Twins and bows: _I am honored to have been in your presence tonight. And may I wish you many full moons. AwOOOOOO!!!

(My mother sweeps out of the room dramatically as my father bursts into tears.)

SCENE.

**A couple seconds later**

On second thought, perhaps I shouldn't show this to my future therapist.

* * *

Author's Note:

May is, like April, kicking my ass. And it's only just begun. *goes into fetal position and cries like a baby*

Anyways:

I'm thinking the next chapter will be up sometime in June, and (cue shameless self-promotion) It's Only Love might have a new chapter around the end of May.

Reviews make my day.


	10. Dirty Harry? Meet Susan Sarandon

Author's Note:

So I know that I promised a lot of Mama Bennet, but...this is the only chapter that has _zero _mild cardio swings or shrines to J. Lo's nose...blame it on iPod shuffle for choosing to play all my sad, atmospheric techno pieces?

**

* * *

**

**November 18****th**

Sometimes in a girl's life, there must be a transformation.

As such, I think it is high time that I let lose my inner Sexy Beast, and it is not, as Charlotte pointedly tells me during her numerous phone messages (apparently, it's alright for her to call me and be seen with me when Jeremiah the Cross Dresser Collins is busy), due to the Village Idiot's new Crack Whore of a girlfriend, but in fact due to my firm belief that girls should not be forced to wear crew necks and sweats when they could be wearing, say, slimly-cut dresses and stilettos to class without being called common whores or prostitutes.

A victory for feminists everywhere, I say. Let them hear the calls sounded 'round the world, that tonight is _the _night that we let go of those restrictions and let's all let freedom ring!

**A few minutes later**

Oh, fuck. Who I am kidding?

It's because of the Village Idiot that I am now being hounded for my number and countless dates every day.

EAT THAT LOSER.

**A few seconds after that**

I'm like Susan Motherfucking Sarandon. I am that classy and hot.

**OH GOOD LORD SHUT UP ALREADY CHAR**

"Did you just call yourself Susan Sarandon?" Char asked suspiciously as I calmly ate my vegetarian lasagna. My quest to become a vegetarian has finally succeeded, and I only got mono once! Success!

Sadly, we're at school, so my other brilliant plan to demolish this hellhole of a prison isn't working quite as planned. Oh, the pains of architecture.

"No," I laughed heartily, making sure to toss my hair in the (non-existent) wind. "Why on Earth would you ask that?" I threw in a well-timed apple bite and another hearty yet cosmopolitan laugh to seal the deal.

"Because you just threw your hair in my face for the 100th time," she informed me, calmly turning the page of her magazine ("Jen: Just Fat or Just Baby Mama?").

I tried not to strangle her. "Oh _you,_" I smiled, clenching my womanly yet strong hands, "are _such _a hyperbole-ist!"

"Not a word, and you've got a giant bit of apple stuck in your teeth."

FUCK.

"Hey, even Susan Motherfucking Sarandon has her days," I sniffed.

Char just raised her eyebrow at me.

With skill and charm, I raised mine. "Where's the cross-dressing lizard today?"

"Jeremiah's in detention." She turned a page of her magazine less calmly.

SUCK IT.

I mean, how unfortunate for him to be the owner of such a pathetic lifestyle.

"What, thong stealing again?"

She ground her teeth and ripped out a page of the magazine, muttering, "_Yes."_

I almost heartily laughed again, only to be reminded of Susan Motherfucking Sarandon's role as Marmee in _Little Women, _which I did not watch solely to see Christian Bale in pantaloons, and patted her gently on the arm. "Apple?"

I swear, it's like a whole new me.

BITE ME BABY.

**During P.E., because I am still on probation for kicking Mr. Michaels in the groin (**_**groin, **_**my ass- that man is clearly gender confused) **

Incidentally, I have taken to watching Dirty Harry movies, so as to up my street cred and gang fighting abilities.

**4:09 in the afternoon, back at the home front**

_Dearest Family,_

I love all of you but sometimes, usually daily and occasionally every second, I wish that you were not set on the Earth to make my life hell.

When I come home from a long day of school, already exhausted from wearing hot clothing and attempting to put Marcus the Hair Rapist in the coma (and by which I really mean Full Body Bind, totalus bitch!), I do not wish to be greeted by the sound of a loud raccoon finding out that garbage is not in fact food. I also do not wish to be greeted by the sight of my mother dressed in a push up bra or booty shorts. That is cruel and unusual punishment, which, as the Constitution states, is against the law and will result in…er…less cruel and unusual punishment…

Anyways. Insta-Weight Loss, Berry Flavor, is not classified as a food group, and as such, should not be the only damn thing in our refrigerator. As a totally and completely non-biased third party member who is proud to represent the underdog, I think that, say, Tropicana Orange Juice Half Pulp with Vitamins A and D is a suitable alternative to that crap. I feel that it would greatly reduce the stupid epidemic in the Bennet household.

Another issue I feel needs to be brought up is the idea that having twins in the first place would be cute and increase the number of people who liked our Christmas card. Given that we don't even send _out _a Christmas card, I think this idea was doomed to fail from the very beginning, and I would like to suggest that the Bennet parents ship the Siamese Twins out to Siberia whenever they come to the conclusion that it's a good idea to throw out of all of Big Sister Lizzie's homework. That is not something that Gossip Girl would report about, and therefore it is insane to give nightly reports about what Gossip Girl would say. It is even more insane that they find it necessary to shout it at the top of their lungs, and punctuate their points with loud, "XOXO GOSSIP GIRL, SLUT!" while Big Sister Lizzie is attempting to get more than one hour of sleep.

In closing, fuck you all.

_Sincerely,_

_Big Sister Lizzie, a.k.a. Susan Motherfucking Sarandon  
_

**4:39 in the afternoon**

Just called up Eva in attempt to raise my gang fighting abilities; need new friends who understand that saying "Yo, bitch, Imma cut you" aggressively is a way of dealing with emotional pain, not a verbal spasm of idiocy.

**November 20****th****, 8:00 in the mother fucking morning**

Did I mention that the Village Idiot is dating the Crack Whore?

Well he is. They've been going at it "hot and heavy" (as my close and personal friend Oprah likes to say) for the past few weeks. It's been cute, really, seeing two drunken idiots like those two finally reach past their insecurities and get together.

I'm all about being the bigger person these days.

When I walked into school today, wearing one of my go-to "I am the better person, fuck you, Will" outfits, I was practically ambushed by the rugby team.

"You," the rugby team pointed at me- "Me"- then at themselves, and then, for the grand finale, an arm shrug: "Date."

"As hard as it is to resist such wit," I replied, beaming brightly at them, in all of their sweaty glory, "I'm really busy this weekend. But maybe sometime in the very distant future?"

They shrugged their shoulders and ambled away.

I think I may wind up marrying one of them.

Anyways, Brit Lit was fun. Real fun, like, captain of the Titanic _fun. _

_Ms. Linden_: "Lizzie! You're on time!"

_Me_: "I know!"

_The Crack Whore: (loudly)_ "I think she should go to detention."

_Ms. Linden: (laughs)_ "Oh, Veronica, always eager to boost that participation score! I'm loving your contributions- keep up the good work!"

_Darcy the Village Idiot,_ _to himself_: "I have excellent participation."

_Me, to the class: _"We're all so grateful."

_Marcus the Hair Rapist, staring at my ass: _"Damn girl, you're like Ms. New Booty!"

Like I said, Brit Lit was fun.

After class, Darcy the Village Idiot extracted himself from the Crack Whore and walked over to me, glaring.

"Wow, have _not _missed you at all," I said, pushing my books into my bag.

"Why didn't you respond to my message?" He demanded. Behind me, the Crack Whore was pouting suggestively at his back. In my head, a team of rabid monkeys attacked her. In real life, she tripped.

I turned back to the DVI and asked him very seriously, "Are you on crack?"

"Excuse me?"

I smiled and began walking away from him. He, of course, followed. "You never left me a message."

He blinked and ran a hand through his hair. "I did…we need to talk- remember?"

"We need to talk." I repeated. Oh shit. He _had _left me a message.

Right, mate. Talk. Us. Right.

But instead of jumping into my well-patented You Can't Touch This dance routine (a classic in the making), I stupidly grunted, "Fuck you," which, being the Village Idiot that he is, he mistook for, "Sure! Let's meet outside at 4:00 in the Quad! Like, gag me with a spoon!"

"_Fine."_

"Fine."

"Fine."

"_Fine."_

Because this could theoretically go on for much longer, and because I had the sinking feeling that Gia had forced Will to watch a lot of romantic comedies, all of which had an argument that turned into hot, passionate making out, I pushed past him and walked to French.

I swear, it's like I'm a goddess.

**November 20****th****, same stupid day, but what a fine day for this fuckery**

WHAT THE FUCK, WORLD.

First you create Darcy the Motherfucking Village Idiot and now this.

I am so not amused.

So first of all, Marcus the Hair Rapist took to following me all around the godamn cafeteria ("Girl, I see you in my future and it's _hot!_" and "Ms. New Booty, we only got 4 minutes to save the world!") Even after I slammed my boot (4 inches, thank you very much) on his toe, he just grinned and waved it off, until I pointed out that he was bleeding.

Funny how girls and blood make males freak out.

It must be the whole period thing.

ANYWAYS.

After the whole Marcus fiasco, I thought I would be safe, because the world had already been cruel. Yeah, did I think wrong.

Because guess who decided to go all anal on my ass?

FITZ-FUCKING-WILLIAM DARCY.

**A few seconds after**

Damn, just realized the sexual connotations (big word! 5 points for nerd Lizzie!) of what I just said.

Back to the Village Idiot thing:

So I was walking back from P.E., sweaty and resembling a lobster, when Darcy popped up from out of nowhere and told me, "You said that we could talk. It's been two days."

"Fuck _off,_" I grumbled, not looking at him. I must say, our school dirt has been absolutely _fascinating_ of late. New weed whacker?

He grabbed my wrist and said, "We _have _to talk."

"What the hell?" I said, yanking my hand back angrily. "Darcy, the last time I checked, you have a girlfriend, right?"

"Lizzie-"

"You have a _girlfriend,_ moron. A girlfriend who is severely lacking in brain cells and neuronal firing capabilities-"

"_Lizzie-"_

I held my hand up to stop him. "Look, all I'm saying is that I don't think there's anything to talk about. You went a little hormonal (let's face it, rain will do that to you) and decided that, hey, let's have a little brain fart and kiss Lizzie!"

He clenched his jaw and looked away from me. I was pretty sure that I was late for U.S. History but hey, _been there, done that. _We all know how it ends: War! Political intrigue! Sexy sabotage! Old men in wigs!

"Lizzie, what about the letter?"

SHIT.

"Uh- what letter?" I said weakly. Game face, Bennet, _game face. _You can take this sucker _down._

"For fuck's sake don't play dumb; you're better than that." I didn't know whether that was an insult or a compliment, so I settled for a glare and crossed my arms. "_That's _what we have to talk about, Lizzie. I mean, if people find out about Gia-"

And stupidly, I thought this was a good sign. Like, Will Darcy might have gotten his head _un_stuck from his ass.

But no. Because this is what came next: "If you tell _anyone, _so help me, I will make sure that your life is a living hell."

I guess it's not really that much of a shock that I punched him in the stomach. Repeatedly.

"_You-"_ punch- "_Asshole-_" punch- "_Why-" _slap (improv!)- "the _Hell_-" slappy slap- "would you think that?" slappin da bass, oh damn, that's Paul Rudd.

I didn't let him answer. "You know what? I would never even _consider _telling _anyone _what happened to Gia because guess what! I'm a good person! And the fact that you would think immediately that I would tell _anyone _is disgusting, Will, and you know what else it is? It's fucking _pathetic._"

"Coming from a girl who just punched me 15 times, I'd consider that a bit ironic, especially since I haven't seen you with Gia ever since I gave you that _disgusting _letter. Unless, of course, you've been busy?"

I wanted to kill him. "Fuck_ you, _Darcy."

"Fuck_ you, _Bennet."

I guess the feeling was mutual.

**November 20****th****, 4:05 pm**

Sweet Baby Jesus what the hell did I do.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck-

"Maia?"

I'd wandered into her room by accident, and in her bed (oh _God) _was Ben. With Maia.

WHAT THE FUCK.

A few minutes passed as Maia scrambled for the blanket and Ben just looked me, smiling sheepishly, and I made plans to throttle him.

"Maia, what the _hell _is going on?"

Maia glanced sharply up at me and pulled a sweatshirt over her head. "I think it's pretty obvious what is going on, don't you?"

Ben grinned at her. She rolled her eyes.

I didn't know which one I wanted to through out, the sister or the asswipe. Tough call.

I was watching them, not really processing anything, just watching as they talked quietly to each other, when everything- _click- _fell into place.

Maia, sitting in her room, crying.

Ben, being introduced to the Siamese Twins, looking like he'd hit the jackpot.

Maia, at the dance, saying that she was a freshman, when in fact she was a sophomore, because hadn't Fitz asked her if she was a Desperate Sophomore?

Ben, in biology class, talking about Will like he wanted to destroy him.

Maia, pushing me away, but daring me to ask what's wrong, and me, taking the bait, closing her door, saying, "Good night, sleep tight," and not really meaning any of it.

Maia. Maia and Ben. Ben and Maia. _BenandMaia. MaiaandBen. MaiaandBenaresleepingtogether._

And then, one final, crystal-like thought fell into place: _I'm a terrible sister._

"Maia," I said, finally meaning it, "I'm so, so, _sorry._"

I kept my eyes on hers as Ben shouted, "What the _fuck? _What is going on? Why is she _sorry? _Lizzie, you know, you have to know, I was only after you-"

_Slap._

Maia slapped him again (I felt so proud!) and said, looking straight at me, "Well, at least you've noticed."

"Do Kat and Lindsay know?"

Maia shuddered. "God no."

I nodded, and Ben pouted, saying, "I'm really hot." Maia rolled her eyes again, a gesture that Ben seemed to mistake for affection.

"And Mom and Dad?"

"What do you think?" She raised her eyebrow at me, and I grimaced in reply, and suddenly I shouted at Ben, "You _asshole!"_

Twisting around, I grabbed one of Maia's pillows and threw it at him. "First _Gia _and now my little sister? What the hell kind of sick bastard _are you?"_

"I'm hot," he muttered again, and that's when I lost it. Chalk it up to the thing with the Village Idiot and Marcus the Hair Rapist, because one minute I was standing very still and the next I was shoving him down the stairs, screaming a him to get, among other things, lost permanently down an elevator shaft.

Once I'd finished kicking him out, I dragged Maia into the kitchen, made a cup of tea because I'm slightly British like that, and had a little chat.

"How long."

"A couple of weeks."

"Did you-" I tried not to remember what I'd walked in on, and opted for a quick refresher course on earl gray tea. _Earl gray tea is a tea blend with a distinctive flavor and aroma derived from the addition of oil extracted from the rind of the bergamot orange._ "Did you use-"

"We used protection," she said quickly.

I nodded. _Traditionally, the term "Earl Gray" was applied only to black tea; however, today the term is used for other teas that contain oil of bergamot. _"Condoms…they don't always work."

"I know," she muttered. "I'm not pregnant, Lizzie."

_The Earl Gray blend is named after the 2__nd__ Earl Grey, British Prime Minister in the 1830s._

"You damn better not be."

"Well, I'm not."

_According to one legend, a grateful Chinese mandarin whose son was rescued from drowning by one of Lord Grey's men first presented the blend to the Earl in 1803. The tale has no basis in fact, as Lord Grey never set foot in China and the use of bergamot oil to scent tea was then unknown in China._

"Good. But we should still get you tested-"

She jumped up, furious. "Lizzie, I'm not fucking pregnant!"

"For STD's," I told her firmly.

"Oh. Okay."

_A "Russian" Earl gray is sold with the ordinary ingredients- plus!- lemongrass._

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "Maia, why did you do this? Why did you _choose _this?"

"It was easy," she said. "He was here, and I thought you liked him, and it was the only way to get through to anyone is the damn house."

I told the tea addict in me to shut up and pay attention, especially since Lizzie 'the Tea Addict' Bennet had only just started drinking it a few minutes ago.

"But you said Mom and Dad didn't know," I replied, "And if Kat and Lindsay didn't know-"

She shook her head and laughed. "Do you honestly think that I wanted _them _to pay attention? Jesus, Lizzie. You're, like, the only person in this house who isn't completely insane."

"I'm insane!" I protested, gesturing to my outfit du jour, choosing _not_ to mention my recent Earl Gray tea monologue, but she just waved me off and said, "You're insane in a good way. And I… I don't know, I needed someone on my side."

"Fair enough."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "The thing is…the thing is, I'm so _lonely_, and I just- I just needed someone, you know?" She opened her eyes and looked up at me, looking very small.

"Yeah," I whispered, reaching out to hold her hand, "I know."

**November 21****st****, 8:00 in the morning**

Reasons Why I'm a Terrible Sister:

1) I let my parents have Kat and Lindsay.

2) I let Ben Wickham into my house (and points to him, for now making me think that's a euphemism for getting into my sister's pants)

3) See above.

4) Again, see above.

Seriously, I think the world has finally unlocked the metaphorical liquor cabinet and taken a large swig of vodka because sweet baby Jesus, what is _going on?_

Maia sat down to dinner with us and told the Parental Morons, "I want to change schools," and Kat and Lindsay burst into to tears and promised to change their ways and Ben did a Scottish jig ("I'm hot, like haggis!") and-

Wait a minute, wait a minute.

Yeah. Dream.

I knew I shouldn't have watched James McAvoy interviews with Maia last night.

Anyways, this is going to be a _very _strange day.

I feel it.

But you know what I say? I say _bring it on, bitch, _because you know what?

I AM SUSAN MOTHER FUCKING SARANDON, BEEYOTCH.

**November 21****st****, 8:01 in the morning**

I just _love _to start on a mature note!

* * *

Author's note continued:

Okay a couple things:

1) So, this chapter is schizophrenic. I know. I think I'd gotten stuck in the story, though, and so I had to do this, to move it forward, and return to the glory days of when Darcy was just the Village Idiot and Nate was Captain Obvious and the Crack Whore was one-very-much-on-the prowl-for-William Darcy- Crack Whore.

2) My very own prison has my name. And that means less updates unless, of course, a brick falls on my head and I get a massive brain blast.

3) I _love _you guys for reviewing; honestly, you have no idea how much it helps. My self esteem thanks you from the bottom of her heart.

4) In Maia's defense: she needed to get someone's attention, and she needed someone who was, relatively speaking, more in touch with reality than the rest of her family. So she picked Lizzie, and chose Ben as a way to get her attention. Not admirable, but when someone's desperate, they'll do anything.

5) All the Earl Gray tea lines are directly from the Earl Gray Wikipedia page.

As always, comments/thoughts/dance tips/"What the what?"/life advice is always appreciated. Review!


	11. Conspiracy Theory and Ice Packs

**December 1****st**

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**December 1****st****, in which we take a break from our regularly schedule programming to bring you this announcement:**

To everyone who is concerned:

Last night, Lizzie got very, very drunk, a.k.a. she had one beer and fell over laughing. (I blame it on her high consumption of orange juice and low consumption of normality.) Eva, Lizzie and I were hosting our annual _Thanksgiving Day Sucks, Let's Get Sloshed on the Day After _party, which pretty much consists of us dragging a box of our dad's beer out of the basement and drinking one bottle each.

We. Are. So. Cool.

Anyway, Lizzie being the lush that she is, she started mumbling nonsense about Will Darcy ("His hair is like a muskrat's baby" being the standout) and then she said very sadly, "Char. I couldn't ignorez-vous his abs."

Sincerely,

Charlotte

**December 1****st****, the day on which I discover that my friends are like swiss cheese, full of holes and lies and**

Things that I remember from last night:

Well then.

Wait no!

It was **dark!**

Success.

**December 1****st****, the day that won't end, sometime in the afternoon/evening**

If this is what the future holds for me, then I am very, _very _concerned.

Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time for wearing sweatpants and eating food that clogs up your intestines, right? A time for friends and family and for turkeys to be everyone's universal sacrificial bitch of the night. _I get it. _Been there, done that.

But the Bennet family? Oh no. We _had _to top last year's fiasco ("Let's Invite The Extended Family and Play Bingo and Make Margaritas!") As if the lawsuit from our neighbor wasn't enough.

This year my mother decided to make a home-cooked meal. I know. I WAS JUST AS SCARED.

So this is basically what happened:

_My mother, in the middle of placing various dishes of toxic chemicals on the table, says: _Hugh, did I put the turkey in the oven?

_My father, an angry cat disturbed from his nap_: THERE BETTER BE TURKEY.

(Side note: my father was sitting in his safe corner.

Yes, he has a safe corner.

Side note over.)

_Kat and Lindsay wander into the dining room, loudly singing Bad Romance: _I want your loving, I want your disease-

_My mother drops the green beans on the ground and joins in: _I WANT YOUR PYSCHO BABY AS LONG AS IT'S FREE

_Me: _Oh, god.

_Maia looks like she is about to cry. I pat her hand and return to the kitchen to find some semblance of real food, a.k.a. take out. _

_Me, yelling over the exotic singing of the Siamese Twins and My Mother the Drug Addict: _What does everyone want to eat?

_My father whimpers in pain and covers his face with the newspaper._

_Lindsay thrusts and grides her way around the dining room table, and Kat interprets: _Chinese! But only if you get Ben to deliver it!

_Kat: _Mmmhmm. That boy is fine.

_My mother: _Holla!

_Maia: _Lizzie-

_In a rare moment of bravery, my father decides to take a stand: _ Melanie, please. Dr. Phil said that expressing your emotions should be done in a tasteful fashion-

_Lindsay: _BEN IS SO HOT!

_Me, losing it: _Ben is a douchebag. He's a dick. He's a bastard with third degree sideburns of shit-

_Maia suddenly grabs the menu from me, flips it over and stars dialing the number. I panic, and consider joining my father in his safe zone. _

_My mother: _Hit me up with a hot one!

_I cannot believe that I am related to her. I cannot believe it. _

_Maia smiles grimly when she hears 'Welcome to the Golden Egg, how may I help you?': _I'd like to place an order, please.

_From behind the newspaper, my father begs: _Everyone, we can move past this. We can be normal. I believe!

_Me: _Quick, Maia- ask for the egg rolls. He's immune to them. He has to deliver them.

_Maia nods and asks for 25 egg rolls. Kat and Lindsay continue their assault on my father's ears, with enthusiastic backup provided by my mother._

_It continues in this manner for a good half hour until the bell rings. _

_My father cries: _Thank God! We are saved!

_Kat and Lindsay shriek and stumble to the door: _Ben! SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE?

_Ben Wickham the Dick realizes what house he is at. Poor boy obviously doesn't pay attention to his delivery jobs. Loser. _

_Maia moves towards the door and grabs the delivery from him: _Thanks. Oh, and Ben?

_Ben grins and fluffs his hair, clearly drunk, clearly anticipating a kiss: _Yeah babe?

_Kat: _BABE?  
_Lindsay: _XOXO SLUT!

_Maia_ _starts throwing egg rolls at him. I grab a few and join in, and my mother starts crying that he's too beautiful for such punishment._

_Maia: _Here's a tip. GET A LIFE.

_Kat, Lindsay and my mother start sobbing and swaying together as he runs away from our house, the last few strains of Bad Romance hanging ominously in the air…_

And this is when I decided to go get drunk with Eva and Charlotte.

**December 3****rd**

So now that Ben is avoiding the whole Bennet family, (lucky bastard actually gets to do that) I have to have a new Bio partner.

Joy of joys, guess who is in my bio class and _also _needs a partner?

Nate Bingley.

Mr. Sampson, being the absolutely _swell _guy that he is, decided that we should be partners. High five.

"I can do the work myself," I told him. Nate was standing next me, awkwardly scratching his head. Why do boys do that? "Really, it's no problem. I mean, Ben wasn't exactly the greatest lab partner ever, if you know what I mean, so I did most of the work anyways and honestly, isn't high school supposed to be about independence? Freedom of thought? I prefer the chance to grow, the opportunity to learn on-"

"Yeah," Mr. Sampson turned his attention back to his copy of _Guns and Grits. _"You lost me, Bennet, but good try. You and Bingley are partners."

Stupid idiot.

As we both made our way to a lab table, Nate said, "Look, Lizzie, I'm really- I just-"

"Can it, Captain Obvious." I opened my book up and flipped the pages absently. "Why did you break up with Eva?"

I have always been in favor of subtlety; in fact, I preach it just like the next person. But I am Susan Motherfucking Sarandon. I am classy and hot, and bitches get stuff done.

Nate said, "Did you just call me Captain Obvious?"

"Did you just try to avoid the question?"

He held his hands up. "Lizzie, that's a really personal question-"

"And I'm your lab partner for the rest of year," I crossed my arms defiantly, "so suck it up and deal."

Nate opened his mouth, reconsidered, and shut it promptly.

Okay, Bingley. Now are you officially a dick. Yay, you.

"Hey, congrats." I smiled. "You are now officially a dick."

Nate glared at me.

I am such a good relationship counselor.

I should take over for Oprah or something.

After school I was packing up and shoving things into my backpack ("Motherfucker, motherfucker") when I felt a tall glaring presence behind me.

I turned around and boom, there was the Whack-a-Mole, all 6'2'' of him decked out in full soccer regalia.

Hello, abs. Long time, no see.

SHUT UP LIZZIE. I AM MATURE. I AM IN CONTROL.

Except when he stepped forward and suddenly I was flat against my locker with a heavy scent of Hot Male in my face. That's when I might have possibly considered grabbing his face and kissing him.

But I digress.

"_Why,_ may I ask," he said, dark eyes flashing, "did you call Nate a dick?"

"Well, Darcy, I don't know if you're aware of this, but in biology class, there's this little thing called _anatomy-_"

He clenched his jaw. "Why did you call him a dick?"

"I think you know why." I tried to push him away so that I could continue with my locker cleanout and cursing session but he _just wouldn't move. _"Jesus, what's your problem?" I asked him. "_Move."_

He grabbed my wrists when I tried to move him again and said, "Stay away from my friends, Bennet. I told you to."

And that's when I kneed him in the groin.

**December 3****rd****, after school, in the principal's office**

The principal's office, aka Hillandale's Land, is an underrated thing. I really don't get why people don't come here more often, to tell the truth. I mean, it has free candy! Lollipops! Good tissues that don't burn your nose! It's my dream.

Unfortunately, I can't say the same thing for the person sitting next me.

"I can't _believe _you did that." Darcy moved the ice pack further and winced. We were sitting in the waiting room. Clearly, the principal hadn't known what to do with us. He'd taken one look at us, Darcy with his icepack over _that _area and me sitting primly next to him, and told us to wait until further notice. Because that wasn't at all pathetic, Mr. Hillandale.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be such a baby. I've hit you before."

"Yeah, I know." He looked at me. "Believe me. You're not easily forgotten."

"Your mouth isn't easily forgotten."

Oh God oh God oh God shut up Lizzie shut up why is my brain to mouth censor not working-

"You say a lot of stupid things," I blurted out in a rush. Was he _smiling at me?_ I added quickly, "You're stupid."

Oh my god the smile was getting bigger how is this possible and why is he leaning in to me what is going on-

"What time is it?"

I swallowed. "You know, I think you really need to revisit the concept of personal space."

He kept his face close to mine and whispered, "You know what I think? I think that you're just _paranoid_."

"Excuse me, I'm not the person who just told someone to, and I quote, stay away from my friends," I said pointedly. "And can I just say that you are also really moody for a guy? Like, really."

He laughed and stretched his arms out behind his head. "I'm only being nice to you now that I know I've captured the threat."

Another heavy swallow from yours truly. This boy was doing things to me.

"I'm a threat?"

He nodded slowly. "A pretty big one, I'd say."

"Why is that?"

"Because," he said, pointing to clock right above me, "You're making me late for practice."

"Ooh, I'm scared." I made a face at him and he laughed.

Why is he being so nice? Is the universe falling apart? Am I drunk? Is _he?_

"Are you drunk?"

Okay, really need to fix my mouth.

He stopped laughing and stared at me. Then he laughed again. "You're a very strange girl, Elizabeth Bennet."

Oh sweet baby Jesus.

"I still don't know why you're talking to me like a normal person would," I told him. "This is a little too schizo, even for me."

But the bastard just laughed again (seriously, I'm convinced that the Bingleys lent him some of their treasured crack or whatever they eat in that house) and said, "Tell Hillandale that I'm late for practice," and _left._

The bastard _left me there to deal with this mess._

Do you see why I hate boys?

**December 4****th****, thank God it's the weekend**

My mental capacities can't handle the addition of Nice!Darcy to Bastard!Darcy.

Seriously. Is the apocalypse happening? Are the Mayans spot on with this whole end of the world thing they've got going on?

In a fit of desperation, I called Char up. If anyone would know of the impending doom of humanity, it would be her. After all, she is dating Jeremiah the Cross Dresser.

"_Char,_" I whined over the phone while skipping through my iPod to find some suitable background music for this conversation, "I think I've lost my mind."

"What happened?" She asked in her _I am Superior to your Shit_ voice.

I said darkly, "Will Darcy happened."

She screamed and I nearly dropped the phone. "Girl! This is what I've been talking to you about! Didn't I say that you should just get over yourself and-"

"Char, I didn't make out with him or anything."

Unfortunately.

"You are a disappointment," Char said flatly.

"I know, and shut up."

I filled her in with the rest of the details, from Darcy's furious anger (I left out the locker bit, though, because she probably would died right there and then) to his sudden mood swings.

"Well, fuck," Char said after I finished with a five-minute description of the Darcy smile. "Is he on drugs or something?"

This is why I have friends, so that they can repeat what I've been thinking.

NO. Where is the inflated ego boosting? Where, might I add, is the flattery?

"I hate honesty," I groaned into a pillow.

**December 4****th****, 3:30 in the afternoon**

I asked the family for opinions, because what better people to ask about crazy then the crazy themselves?

My father: "Lizzie! I'm sure that he's just confused with his feelings. If you, uh, don't mind, can you not tell your mother where I am? I've been looking for some peace and quiet after Thanksgiving and…"

The Siamese Twins: "You should totally hit that."

Maia: "You are pathetic, but I love you. Don't drink all of our orange juice."

My mother: "In situations like these, I always ask myself _What Would J. Lo do?"_

The Dust Bunnies:

**Possibly in the evening of December 4****th**

Just came back from seeing a romantic comedy with Eva.

I don't know what to be more ashamed of, the fact that I cried my way through it or that Eva used to be the one who cried her way through a whole bucket of popcorn.

During the opening montage, I made fun of the guy for playing soccer. Eva hit me with a bag of M&M's, and I moodily ate some popcorn, pointing out that a lot of guys who play soccer are actually really unattractive and have acne.

"Right," she said, and she dumped the M&Ms on my head. "Char told me everything, and why can't you just get over yourself?"

"He has a _girlfriend,_" I snapped, viciously chewing on popcorn. Behind me, a couple started making out. Greeeeat. Two morons sharing salivia. "And it's the _Crack Whore._"

Eva turned her eyes back to the screen. "She's Nate's sister."

"She's a bitch." A pause. "Also…"

"_Lizzie._"

"I might have possibly called Nate a dick."

Eva shouted, "What?" The couple glared at us, so I threw popcorn at them.

"It might have slipped out during Bio," I confessed. Eva frowned. "I thought you were partners with Ben?"

"Well that was before he slept with Maia."

_Shit._

"Ben slept with _Maia?_" She shouted again. "Your _little sister_?"

I nodded and grimaced. "She's fine; actually, we've been a lot closer recently. But Ben is just such a dick, I couldn't work with him. But Nate needed a partner, and Mr. Sampson stuck us together."

She sat quietly for a few moments, and I added, "I'm really sorry, Eva. Look, I can take it back-"

"No."

"Okay…" I watched her out of the corners of my eyes, but she was resolutely watching the movie now.

Damnit. The sad breakup montage was already playing.

"Are you crying?" Eva asked as I sobbed.

"I'm blfine," I blubbered and clutched the popcorn bucket for moral support. "I'm fine."

**December 5****th**

I finally got off my ass and called Gia to apologize.

She picked up after four rings and said warily, "Hello? Darcy residence-"

"Gia! Look, I know if you don't ever want to speak to me again that's totally up to you and I wouldn't hate you but I'm so so _sorry _about Ben, and God he's such a dick. Oh this is Lizzie by the way."

I heard muffled noises on her end and then she said, "I should have guessed."

"Gia, I'm so sorry," I repeated seriously. "I've been a bitch lately."

"Will! Hey, you're back early! Oh- Lizzie, wait- damn, I think the line's disconnected. Lizzie? Hello?"

I flung the phone down.

It's a damn conspiracy.

* * *

Author's Note:

First semester's been a bitch.

Hopefully this chapter is more coherent than the last one? Yeah, Darcy is a strange creature.


	12. The Sweet Sound of Giggles

**December 9****th**

I have gone behind enemy lines. Duty calls.

During feeding time at the jailhouse, I interrupted Fitz's conversation with a hot freshman ("Oh my God, are you _British?_" "Cheers, love!") and pushed him over to the salad bar.

"Darling, if you wanted me that much," Fitz beamed, "You should have told me ages ago! Pip pip!"

"Fitz, you are _not _that British," I reminded him with a scowl. He shrugged happily and pointed over to the freshman he'd just been talking to. "Lisa seemed to think differently."

"Well, Lisa has an IQ of 2 but that's not the point." My emotions were getting away from me. Focus, Bennet. You can do this. You have the ammunition, the big guns, and Air Control just sent a drone out to save you. Rephrase and redirect. "Your cousin is a freak."

Okay, maybe not so much with the emotional control.

He threw his head back and did the laugh/snort combo he is so fond of.

"_Fitz_," I whined, "It's serious! First he threatened me and then he was nice!"

Still chuckling (STILL CHUCKLING), he patted me on the head and offered me his carrot.

"_What is going on with your crackhead family?_" I growled at him. "Why is the whole Darcy clan on drugs? Didn't you hear me? He was _nice _to me! After, might I add, being a total ass and going all Fight Club on my ass. Is there some secret code that I don't know about? A prank maybe?" Oh, God. Was this because I had turned down the rugby team? "Is this because I said I didn't want to go on a date with the rugby team? I take it all back! I'll go out with one of them! Hell, I'll go out with _all _of them if it means that he'll stop. And what about the smiling? That has to be illegal or something, maybe he's found a new type of crack that only he knows about and he's going to be some up-and-coming drug dealer or-"

Fitz looked at me fondly. "You're cute when you get worried. It's like seeing a baby possum shit itself."

And with that, he walked away, chuckling madly to himself.

**A few seconds after that**

Honestly, it's a miracle that I haven't lost it completely.

I mean, _really. _

Also.

I do not look like a baby possum.

**Still same stupid day**

Mr. Michaels decided to let me off probation from P.E., on account of my accidental attack on his groin, _which happened over a month ago and only caused minor swelling to the damage site, so you're __**welcome**__, but whatever._

There are almost too many role models here at Longbourn High. Well done, teacher's union.

"Bennet," he informed me while smoothing back his (two) strands of hair, "I think you've transformed beautifully."

In confusion, I looked down at the required uniform of crap Longbourn High gym clothes. Due to the continued harassment from my BritLit seatmate Marcus the Hair Rapist ("Hey sweet thang, shake that booty!") I've ditched the body-con dresses and now go to school armed with 4 inch boots and pepper spray.

He continued, "You're no longer so _angry_," and added a significant eyebrow raise, as if to hint at my past involvement with the colorful local gang.

"Ah." I added, punctuating my philosophical ruminations with an eyebrow raise of my own.

"Glad we had this talk." More hair smoothing, followed by a prolonged eyebrow raise.

I couldn't help it. "Mr. Michaels?"

"Yes?" He asked smugly, no doubt thinking of the respect he's gained from the school for saving Lizzie Bennet, troubled student and ex-mugger, from the travesties of gang life in the state of New York.

"I think your hair _wants _to grow, but just _can't,_" I said, and promptly earned myself another month on the bench.

Ah, the Throne of Dignity. How I've missed thee.

**2:35 in the afternoon, written during that hellhole known as U.S. History**

I would like to complain to the school about the need to have soccer games. Or even a team at all, really.

I mean, how much does it add to our school spirit to see a bunch of uncoordinated, unattractive and extremely short boys charging about the fields? Honestly, when I see the captain of the Shorties Squad running around school, it makes me sick. Really, I can taste the vomit in my mouth right now.

The captain, also known as one William Darcy, is an example of _why _coordinated sports are such a sham. For this Mr. Darcy is not, as the school board will have you believe, an upstanding citizen of Longbourn High. He is actually a lunatic, prone to breaking personal space bubbles and the like.

Also, he has a thing for pushing certain students, such as one Elizabeth Bennet, up against walls. And breathing on her. Among other things.

As a completely objective third-party observer, I would also like to add that his mouth is horrendous, and should be made illegal. Better yet, I would like him to undergo plastic surgery of the face and body so that he can be fully contained as a threat to human society.

So yes, I think that my point about the captain has been made thoroughly well. He is a maniacal beast, extremely short, extremely ugly, and has a bad mouth.

Yes.

Point made.

**Immediately after U.S History**

Must get notes from someone who did not spend class writing an angry letter to the imaginary court of law in high school.

Must not sit by window during said class, because that is when the soccer team has its games.

Also must remember that the Village Idiot has bad hair that is not luscious like a Pantene commercial.

**I have no friends**

Just rang Fitz up to start Round Two of Operation Darcy Containment, only to find that Fitz has also found the stash of drugs, as the conversation consisted solely of Fitz crooning "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" (no) to me in Spanish.

Except Fitz doesn't know Spanish, so it had that added entertainment value.

I hung up on him after the third verse, and then proceeded to spend the next hour screaming silently into my pillows.

I really need a panic room.

**8:00 at the oasis, hahahahhaha**

Over dinner, I told Maia about my theory that the world is out to get me and/or the dream is collapsing.

"Think about it," I waved my fork around in the air, a few strands of spaghetti flying off and hitting my father in the face, "This is exactly what Christopher Nolan was talking about." When she just reached for her water, I repeated, "_Exactly._"

The Siamese Twins broke off their conversation about whether they needed ass replacements and said, "Oh my God, Lizzie, you can't just say things like that if you don't mean them."

Hold up. On what alternate universe do the Siamese Twins know about Christopher Nolan?

"Do either of you know who Christopher Nolan is?" Maia demanded. They looked at each other. Lindsay rolled her eyes, "Uh, _duh. _He's that dude who knew that guy that was really hot and tragic."

My father poked his head up from his end of the table. "Ah, yes, girls: _Batman_. A classic. One of my preferred films to watch, whenever I'm in a cinema verité mood."

"Coucher avec moi ce soir!" My mother chimed in with a shimmy. "Je veux te voir-"

"I WANT YOUR LOVING," screamed Kat and Lindsay.

Maia ignored them and said, "Lizzie, you're being dramatic. Maybe he's decided to be nice to you."

"But it's _Darcy,_" I replied. "Since when has he decided to be nice to anyone?"

**My God, this day will not end**

Gia called around nine, and I apologized for a good ten minutes before she finally told me to shut up.

"Bitch, you're not that important," she said. A pause. Then I started laughing and she started laughing and I told her about the disturbing developments in the Bennet household, namely that my mother apparently knows how to speak French now and my father watches foreign films.

"Oh, God."

"I know," I winced. "All that culture."

She laughed and then became quiet. "Lizzie?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember when school had just started and we were dancing around to Mamma Mia in the art room? I miss that."

I sighed, "Me too. Everything was easier then." Is it appropriate to add in the bit where I hated your brother's guts and he hated mine? Or is that more of a third call conversation?

"My brother wants to add that he's sorry if he offended you."

I choked on the orange juice I was drinking. "What? Gia? Is he there? What did he say? Not that I'm affected by it or anything-"

"Lizzie-"

"I mean, I'm affected by global warming and the world melting but-"

"He has problems expressing his emotions," Gia said seriously, and I could picture that look on her face. "Once he threw up because he was so happy."

"…That's gross."

"Tell me about it, I had to clean it up. What I'm trying to say is that he's made a mess of things-"

"You can say that," I muttered darkly and glared at the calendar of puppies on the wall. I hate those damn golden retrievers.

"_But_," she added, "So have you. And in his own way, he's trying to apologize."

"Apologize."

"Yeah. Maybe you can, you know, let him off the hook?"

"Is he being nice to me because he's trying to apologize for being an emotional fucktard, or is he being nice to me for other reasons?"

A pause. "I have to go."

"_Gia."_

"See you at school!"

The line went dead.

I hate the Darcy's.

**December 10****th**

You know, it just goes to show you that being in a gang is actually highly beneficial, because if I were in a gang, I could have hired them to beat up the Darcy's and then I'd be clear of this mess.

Except I'd probably be sued, but that's a minor detail.

BritLit was its usual charming self. The Village Idiot winked at me during our discussion on Bleak House, but I think his eye has severe twitching problems, because he did it again as we were leaving class.

"Why, _Miss Eliza!_"

Yeah, _guess who._

"You!" I shrieked to the Crack Whore who was dressed in her daily finery of a crop top, mini skirt and wedges. "Look great!"

She smirked at me. "I've heard that you and Ben Wickham are no longer, uh, as _intimate _you used to be."

"Well," I paused, taking my time, "It's so hard to keep the flame alive once you've already lit it. You of all people must understand _that_."

"I completely- wait what?"

I'd like to say that I am above this. "Well, you and Darcy." Okay. Guess not.

"What are you implying?" She hissed.

"Nothing, nothing!" I beamed and stepped out of her way. "Don't mind me."

French was an absolute disaster on account of the fact that Mrs. Allen's subscription of Cosmo hadn't arrived, so she actually decided to teach us some verb conjugations.

Mr. Gent was out sick from Math, and Joey, Luke and Matt led our class in a glorious rendition of "We Shall Overcome" with accompaniment provided by the old radiators. Ah, the joys of music.

During painting, I tried to get more out of Gia on the subject of the Village Idiot, but she just smiled and said, "You have to talk to _him_," so I threw clay at her instead.

Is it just me, or am I becoming more violent as I get older? Must investigate this inverse relationship someday, when I actually care.

**After Bio**

Well, that was strange.

After lunch I walked to Bio, and ho and behold, there was my partner de jour (more like ans but c'est la vie) Captain Obvious.

BUT LISTEN TO THIS:

Standing next to him was Eva. _Eva. The girl he dumped because she wasn't girlfriend material._

He was talking and she was listening very intently; I could make out the words "Shithead" and "bowling ball" before Eva spotted me.

"Lizzie!" She said very loudly. Nate turned and gave a faint wave, which I returned.

"What's cracking?" I asked in a bad British accent. Fitz is really rubbing off on me.

Eva glanced at Nate and announced, "He's not a dick, Lizzie. At least- not anymore."

He smiled at her, and she grinned.

"Excellent," I said.

OH GOD THIS MEANS A RETURN TO CONVERSATIONS LIKE THIS:

Nate: "Hey, Eva!"

Eva: "Hey, Nate!"

Nate: "How are you?"

Eva: "I'm good, how are you?"

Nate: "I'm fine. Better than fine."

Eva: (giggle)

Nate: (giggle)

SOMEONE SAVE ME.

I rearranged the look of horror on my face and continued, "I'll see you _after school_, Eva," adding a pointed look at Nate so that she would know that I would kill her unless she told me everything. Of course, because no one else speaks Spy Code like I do, she misinterpreted it and asked me if I was having a mental breakdown.

"Not at all!" I shouted and pulled Nate into class with me. "I'll see you _later!__**"**_

The rest of class was spent listening to Mr. Sampson lecture on RNA replication, during which I tried to formulate my thoughts.

Rational Lizzie argued: Nate's still a dick! He broke up with her for no reason!

Irrational Lizzie returned: But she said he isn't, and really, isn't that what matters more?

Rational Lizzie glowered: She's too damn pretty to know better.

Irrational Lizzie snapped: Judgmental much?

I told the Lizzie's in my head to shut up. As I was leaving, Nate stopped me and said, "Look, I know you have a lot of reasons why you wouldn't like me. Or trust me. I get it. I screwed up big time, and right now, all I want is Eva back." He looked at me very seriously and added, "I miss her."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you broke up with her."

He grimaced. "I'm an asshole."

"Pretty much," I said, but this time I laughed. "Aren't you so lucky, Captain Obvious?"

Nate groaned and leaned down to pick up his notes. "What is it with you and nicknames?"

"It's my own personal crack," I told him. He raised his eyebrows in response, and that's when I decided to run with this sudden friendship with Captain Obvious. "Why is Darcy acting so strange lately?"

"You mean why was he dating my sister?"

I replied, "Well yes, but-"

Wait-

_Was _dating his sister?

As in, _no longer_?

As in, legally allowed to flirt with whomever he wants?

Nate and I were walking down the hall from the science block to the junior's lockers, so I couldn't exactly break into my Can't Touch This dance routine. BUT THIS WAS MAJOR NEWS.

"Why was he dating her, exactly?" My voice cracked in excitement. I am a gossip whore.

"Well…" He paused and scratched his neck. "You really want to know?"

"Sure, why not." Blasé is best when looking for information. I have learned from Kat and Lindsay's repeated viewings of Gossip Girl.

"Will was kind of why I broke up with Eva," he said slowly. "He didn't trust her, didn't think that she was, I don't know, right for me or something. But once I broke up with her, I realized exactly how stupid I'd been, and eventually, he realized that too." Here he looked at me and said, "I actually think it was because of something you said to him."

I tried not to look smug and/or terrified that the Village Idiot talked to Captain Obvious about me. Nate continued, "So after I kicked his ass, I said that if he really wanted to show me he was sorry, he should date Veronica."

Sweet baby Jesus. I stopped in the hallway, jaw dropped. "You _dared _him to date your own sister?"

"Basically," he admitted with a sheepish grin.

"Damn, Bingley," I swore. "Never let me get on _your _bad side."

So now I am a huge fan of ½ of the Bingley family, and I would totally support anything he plans to do for world domination of obviousness.

**4:05**

Caught up with Eva on the way home and it is official: the Gigglers are back together! Huzzah!

"I'm so happy, Lizzie," she told me as we crossed the street.

"I'm happy you're happy," I responded. She smiled and said, "I'm not a pushover, you know."

"I know." She isn't, actually. She's just Eva.

"So we're all good? You're not going to call my boyfriend a dick anymore?"

"….okay."

She giggled in response.

Giggles: the sound of the universe reorienting itself.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

That's the sound of progress, my friends. The sweet sound of typing and no sleep.

We're almost at the end!

Last night I watched Inception for the third time and my mind is _still _reeling. I love it. And now I'm planning an Inception/Pride & Prejudice crossover.

The geek in me is shooting lasers in excitement.


	13. The Saga of the Shirt

**December 12****th****, sometime during lunch**

Now that the Gigglers are reunited with each other, I have been relegated to the role of Eva's Single Friend Who Needs Romantic Advice.

Eva likes reading books about really, really attractive people who have complicated romances set in exotic locales (spoiler alert: THEY ALL DIE), and thinks that this gives her the right to tell me how I should start an equally exotic yet complicated romance with the Village Idiot.

French was insanely boring today, as Mrs. Allen decided to actually teach, so I spent the period copying down Eva's little _gems _of wisdom.

_On how to get a date with the suddenly very single Mr. Darcy: _"Lizzie! Will's single! You could double date with Nate and me! I'll set you guys up!"

_How to impress him on said double date: _"Say loads of vague things and stare at your wrist. Also, pout. I learned that from _Atonement_."

_How to seduce him: _"Wear a green dress! Look like Keira Knightley! Wait wait I've got it- HAVE A CREEPY YOUNGER SISTER!"

Perhaps this is payback for that time we watched Atonement and I spent the whole movie saying, "Oh, _fuck _me," whenever James McAvoy was on screen.

**1:24 p.m.**

The Village Idiot is no longer dating the Crack Whore, but she still hates me, as evidenced by the fact that she spilled ranch dressing all over my shirt during lunch.

"Miss Eliza! Didn't see you there!" She crowed.

"Well, you are marvelously short," I said and went off to find Fitz, who is the school's seller of contraband bleach. Must be the British genes in him.

I found Fitz standing in with a gaggle of sophomores, all female, and pushed my way to the center of the group.

"My God, did you vomit on yourself?" Fitz asked, his eyes wide.

My friends are, at best, adequate.

"The Crack Whore spilled ranch dressing on me."

He raised his eyebrow and said, "_Really._"

"Really."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Rea-"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE FITZ JUST GIVE ME THE BLEACH."

I closed my eyes and counted to 10. Happy thoughts, Bennet, _happy goddamn thoughts._ Beaches, shirtless Italian men who give you rides on Vespas, cake.

"What happened?" asked a voice behind me. A voice that was definitively not British.

"Your ex," Fitz said cheerfully, patting Will on the nose. "Well spotted, mate. Be a dear and help this lovely lady with the bleach?" He handed Will the gallon of bleach, beamed, and turned back to his group. "Ladies, did I ever tell you about the time I bungee-jumped off a tree? Let's talk about it over some crumpets," he said, and taking the whole gang of girls with him, he left. Leaving me alone with a gallon of bleach and one very confused Will Darcy.

"Um," Will said, refusing to look at me. "Is that-"

"Ranch dressing."

"Ah."

"Yes."

"So. How do you, um, want me to help?" He gestured vaguely at my midsection.

I glanced down at my shirt and sweet baby Jesus someone tell me that this was not happening. Someone please tell me that the ranch dressing had _not _congealed right around my boobs and formed an artistic brooch.

"I'll figure something out," I said, reaching for the bleach. I am so cool. I am above this. Ranch dressing? Bitch please, it's Chanel.

"Wait-" He held it away from my hands. "You really shouldn't do that. Bleach is bad for you."

"Thanks for the health warning, secretary."

"I try," he grinned. He suddenly put down the bleach and started walking towards his locker. "I have a plan."

"You know how I love plans," I said, following him and desperately trying to deflate the ranch dressing on my boobs.

When we got to his locker, he glanced over at me again. "I'm sorry about this. Veronica will give you hell but I figure it's the only option."

"What are you-"

He handed me his jacket, the one that said DARCY in huge letters, and I felt like vomiting.

"Your soccer jacket."

"You can wear it and give it back to me tomorrow. Great plan, huh?"

"Dude. I am _not _wearing this." I threw it back at him and crossed my arms.

He glared at me. "Why not?"

"Girls wear jackets like that when they're dating the guy who owns the jacket, and I am not _owned _by you. I'm not your property, Will."

"Lizzie. It's a _jacket_," he said slowly, enunciating his words like he was talking to a crazy person. "It's not a dog collar."

"Well, it feels like one."

He rubbed his hands over his face, and I began to feel sorry for him. I mean, clearly this had been his best plan, and what did that say about him? That his best plan was actually incredibly stupid?

I don't call him the Village Idiot for nothing.

"Fine," he snapped, and before I could protest, he pulled off his sweater and threw it at me.

"Please. Like I'm wearing your _sweater_-" and then I stopped talking because HOLY HELL, he was taking off his shirt and my God, the gossips were not lying when they said that Will Darcy had the abs of Jesus.

He folded his shirt and held it above my head. "I'll take my sweater back now," he said, smiling, still holding his shirt above my head.

I swallowed. Heavily. "You play dirty," I told him. He just grinned and pulled his sweater back over his head.

"So do you," he said through a mouthful of sweater, and then reemerged from it.

I reached up to ruffle his hair. "Aww, cute."

"You know what's cute? Girls with ranch dressing on their shirts."

"Bastard."

"If the shirt fits."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed his shirt, pulling it over mine. It fell to my knees.

Will laughed.

**3:30 p.m. on the way home from school**

The following is a conversation copied verbatim from people known formerly as my "friends."

_Charlotte, the first in a long line of traitors: "_You're wearing Will Darcy's shirt."

_Eva, Part of the Happy Couple: "_I knew it! My advice worked!"

_Charlotte, in the middle of a fully body panic attack: _"YOU. ARE. WEARING-"

_Me, in a helpful and angelic manner: _"Will Darcy's shirt, yes. Now how about some pie?"

_Eva: _"Bull to the shit!"

_Me: _"STOP TRYING TO MAKE IT HAPPEN."

_Charlotte: _"God, Karen, you can't just ask people why they're black. LIZZIE YOU WEARING HIS SHIRT."

_Me: _"Yes, we've established that."

_Eva squashes her nose into the shirt, and Charlotte does the same. They both inhale._

_Me_:

_Them:_

_Me:_

_Them: _"Oh my _God._"

_Me: _"So who's hungry?"

_Eva: _"I say this as someone who is dating his best friend: Will Darcy smells like sex."

_Charlotte: _"Lizzie. _Lizzie. _Girl. I am so proud."

_Me: _"James McAvoy can get it!"

**December 13****th****, thank God it's the weekend**

May or may not have spent my Friday night hugging a shirt that belongs to He Who Must Not Be Named.

May or may not have called Fitz, told him about the shirt, and then gotten roped into an ice-skating outing with the Gang, aka Nate, Eva, Will, Fitz, Charlotte and Gia.

Must cease all friendships with British people who sell bleach.

**10:04 a.m. and already the family is crazy**

I spent breakfast debating the merit of grammar with Maia, only to realize that I had mispronounced banal during my debate presentation last Friday.

I love irony.

"It's buh-NAL," Maia informed me after I told her.

"No no!" My mouther sailed in the room wearing a caftan and turban, fluttered her arms, and corrected her: "It's Baywatch!"

**11:36 a.m.**

Nate just called me to issue a warning.

"Lizzie, you better be there."

"Where is _there_?" I said.

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Right-o, Captain Obvious."

"Also, Will told me to tell you that you can keep his shirt. Want to tell me what happened?"

"See you at three!"

I think my avoidance issues have really upped their game since I last checked in with them. Look at my babies, all grown up! Avoiding people over the phone!

Praise the Lord! I love the Gospel radio station!

**Two hours later**

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I was sitting in my room and singing along to Oprah, normal shit and all, when I heard the Siamese Twins say, "You're so hot! You're the captain of the soccer team!"

That could only mean one thing: Will Darcy had entered the Bennet premises. Again.

The last time he had been in my house…no no no not thinking about that.

I ran down the stairs, grabbed my things, grabbed his hand, and pulled him out of there as fast as I could.

"_Go_," I hissed when he stared at me dumbly. He kept staring at me, and then he muttered, "Right, right," and ran with me to his car.

"You have cold hands," he told me after we got in.

"Smooth, Will," Fitz said from the backseat. "Like Byron, you are."

Gia hit him in the arm and said, "Don't mind Fitz. Lizzie, why are you wearing Will's shirt?"

I wanted to strangle whoever thought it had been a good idea to reproduce Darcy's.

**After the ice skating trip**

Reasons Why I Will Never Go Ice Skating Again:

1) The trauma of seeing Nate and Eva slobber all over each other.

2) The trauma of seeing Fitz flirt with Charlotte.

3) The trauma that is ice skating.

4) Falling on the ice repeatedly and hitting the same bruise _every fucking time._

5) Realizing that I will never be Michelle Kwan, and the subsequent crushing of my childhood dream to become an Olympic figure skater because of the cool costumes.

6) IT IS SO FUCKING COLD.

Reasons Why I Will Go Ice Skating Again:

1) Good hot chocolate.

2) Will Darcy is a terrible ice skater.

* * *

Author's Note:

Short filler chapter because...drum roll please...THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE THE LAST. AND THE LONGEST. BUT MAINLY THE LAST.

A huge shout-out to everyone who's stuck with this story; y'all are amazing, and your reviews make my day. They are so sweet and hilarious and thoughtful that they make me want to hug everything in sight.


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